
“When the wind blows the grass bends.” Confucius
Even In this Fierce Place I love the way the wind brushes the dry grass, and when I tread its tired winter youth it crackles like a fire, sending shards into the air, and not to wanting to be forgotten, it gifts me with burs and seeds to adorn my socks at once firmly attached for immortality, that cycle of life where it dies, yet it lives again, even in this fierce place of parched soil, and I take heart that shall rise again like a phoenix from the ash of this desiccated season. ©Paul Vincent Cannon
There is hope in this poem. So well penned.
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Thank you so much VJ.
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You are welcome.
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I’ve been on those walks, but dont enjoy the burrs as much😉
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They dig in and scratch, awful things, but so resilient. 🙂
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A wonderful poem with so much hope.
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Yes, hope is alive. Thank you Rupali.
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Wonderfully said Mr Paul🤓some of my walk’s I didn’t enjoy😞but running and dancing now….no walk’s💃
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Amazing how we change and grow.
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I particularly like how this poem celebrates place for what it is, in all its fierceness.
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I was right in that very feeling, amazing, thank you Liz.
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Amazing indeed. You’re welcome, Paul.
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🙂
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Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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🙂
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Happy to share, Paul! 😊✨✨🎉
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I love the cycle of life depicted in this poem which reflects our own existence
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Yes, that earthy recognition.
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