THERE is a wheel in the garden
a garden where roads have
traveled by love and tears.
There within the attic are
toys whereby children have
grown — grown to know how
to share and forgive enemies
who love the things they love.
And then there is the field
behind the house; where often
what has been said is no longer
remembered but still felt:
forgive you. Do you forgive
me for hating you when you said
what I cannot remember now?
Yes. A different time
but the heart always knows.
And time is the task master
that never forgets.
But then, we shall always
know.
:: 09-13-2017 ::
