The world is full of fall, a time of
bringing home the sheaves.
When summer's fatness leans to cool
the red-stained Autumn leaves.
Returning from vacation, chipping
pieces from the whole
to trade them in the marketplace:
feed hunger; starve the soul.
Midst desert of our wilderness
we hear twin voices cry
a warning to believers, stalkers
as they pause to die.
A Princess moans a final prayer,
some parting words from Mother;
Says the one: "Leave me alone,"
"I cannot breathe," another.
Where do you hide, O Mercy, when the
stinging season comes
to steal away from us these treasures --
Finding us alone?
In silence, tune our hearts to send
aloft to you a prayer
that penetrates your mystery
and meets you in the air.
God, bound you are to us in death,
when answers fail to come;
Gob bound we are to you, our breath
in death, in life beyond.
Bo Gordy-Stith, September 12, 1997
