in the dream a child died.
a teacher spoke the language of hearts, though earlier she was the tower on the hill that, when in the sun, resembled a lighthouse. she, even now, shone..life..through more than dry and crumbling words to teach the fog-lost father about light and hope, but mostly about birds that sing the song of the prayer of the canticle; that carve the winds, that sing no matter what.
5 comments:
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a good teacher. a terrible dream.
'cause if a child dies birds stop singing
.... sometimes dreams come just to make us write beautiful poems...
I have just read "The secret commonwealth" by Robert Kirk. This is out of topic but I thought you would like this book.
"to teach the fog-lost father". So necessary work, and so serious.
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