Waiting

Standard

Here is what I do not understand

The anticipation of the thing

 

The hushbreath before belief

begins coursing through veins

that long were wilder things

Vines coiled up the garden walls

with solemn iron gate now open

open only for you had the key

Though heartroots withered

listless breezes blew dry bracken

yet here you came with water

 

Yes this is the hushbreath of belief

swinging the vane easterly

and here comes sun again

 

And the gate is open still

in bright anticipation

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Ramble back at me...

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