They meet in the soul

Where poems, hues, friendships is……, and grief that devastates is not

It could not talk…so it drew

That could not draw…..it asked another to.

Wind, blows
Water, flows
Grass, grows
Love, blooms

None of these lives when held in fists

They meet in the soul
Where Free is!

When the soul is drawn
Close to Quiet’s Beauty

Can hear the wind, blow,
water, flow,
grass. grow and
love, bloom

Lives, the soul
And flies
to the coming away from grief’s sources forever!