Wednesday, September 01, 2010

Lunch Poem

It Is Born

Here, I came to the edge
where nothing needs to be said,
everything is learned with weather and ocean,
and the moon returned
with its lines silvered
and each time the shadow was broken
by the crash of a wave
and each day on the balcony of the sea
wings open, fire is born
and everything continues blue as the morning.

by Pablo Neruda


1 comment:

Always love to hear from you...and the anonymous option is open for those feeling shy.

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