110,013 poems read

Words and rocks and hills and rain,
The North Wind barrels down on me
Tearing from my fragile grasp flags of spirit
Held close to my heart that sense could
Be made from the tempest tearing at me
From all sides—sad tears and prayers—
I peer in sorrow at the rising sun
Pleading that I be a vessel of loving
Kindness midst the rocks and hills—
Firm and quiet—unmoved and still
Not fragile, not broken, not bothered