.
We toss our burlap robes into the fire,
with no one left to preach, gone is the choir.
.
Come weave new cloth with capers of the dawn,
in rosy flowing garbs we’ll carry on.
.
Each seam we’ll sew with needles made of gold
and silver threads embroidered on each fold
.
and then with pockets full of wind and sky
like sacred chiffon kites we’ll learn to fly.
.
.
© 2015, 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
Happy New Year!
🙂
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Thank you for reading it! 🙂
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🙂
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My Spiritual Partner flies funny little balloon things.
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PS This is a beautiful poem.
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Thank you, Joanna – that means a lot to me.
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Love it!
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Love the iambic pentameter (as you might guess), and the imagery reminds me of a kind of painting William Blake might have done…quite lovely, Betty!
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I was hoping you’d like the iambic pentameter (it was your poetry that inspired me) and I’m honored that it reminded you of anything by William Blake. One of my favorites. Thank you, Cynthia!
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Your formalist side is showing Betty. 😉 Happy New Year
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Thank you, Dennis. Yes, even us old hippie poets can be formal now and then. 😉
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To arms!! 🙂
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Hear, hear! 🙂
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