2020
You thought you knew how time flew (or flies)
"Something is born. Then it dies."
But 7, 5, and 2 they are,
Burning wildly as the stars.
Where do these moments go that we find?
Into the currents of a holy Mind.
A poem on the passing of time and the memory of God
You thought you knew how time flew (or flies)
"Something is born. Then it dies."
But 7, 5, and 2 they are,
Burning wildly as the stars.
Where do these moments go that we find?
Into the currents of a holy Mind.
