The Song We Sing
(for A Dove)

If in time,
walking dusty trails,
they do not end in verdant valleys
mad prophets spewed in frothy promises,
if hope is but a burning trail
and faith
dry weeds tumbling 
in the wind,
the songs we sing
are but a mute refrain
echoing through dark valley’s desolate shame,
for there above
the bright sky glitters
taunting rhapsodies…

Author - Wintersong
Copyright © 1999