I moan and groan
I’ve grown morose;
Grief buries me
The seams are sewn.

I’ve grown morose
A flat ache tone
Is all I own.

Grief buries me:
A deadly zone-
A clone alone am I.

The seams are sewn
I’m held within
“Til weave with God is grown.

2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. joyacey
    Oct 08, 2012 @ 20:37:09

    Jeanne. I’m always amazed at the gold seam on these chrysili. How does that happen?

    Sent from my iPhone Joy Acey


  2. jmpoland21van
    Oct 09, 2012 @ 09:40:55

    Dear Joy:
    You’re right: a gold seam, a branding spectacular for the interior life!
    Well we had a great swap: You gave me Surple and I gave you the pruning of syllables.
    The tool metaphor for the animal made me search and find my “How Things Work” book. What fun I had with fulcrums and balancing elephants.


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