Broken Lyre
© Surazeus
2018 03 31
The house I build on the dusty plain
will keep out the heat, the wind, and the rain.
I hear her voice beside me in the night
and feel her eyes watch me in the sunlight.
I dip my hands in the cold river flow
and taste the gladness of the mountain snow.
I dig up fruit trees from the wilderness
and plant them in my grove of happiness.
I dig holes from the moist soil of the Earth
and marvel at how seeds sprout in rebirth.
Though plants all die in the season of gloom
they sprout reborn from her terrestrial womb.
My children play games on the river shore
while I watch, laughing, by the cottage door.
The men who burn what I build in hot fire
laugh when I sing lament on broken lyre.
© Surazeus
2018 03 31
The house I build on the dusty plain
will keep out the heat, the wind, and the rain.
I hear her voice beside me in the night
and feel her eyes watch me in the sunlight.
I dip my hands in the cold river flow
and taste the gladness of the mountain snow.
I dig up fruit trees from the wilderness
and plant them in my grove of happiness.
I dig holes from the moist soil of the Earth
and marvel at how seeds sprout in rebirth.
Though plants all die in the season of gloom
they sprout reborn from her terrestrial womb.
My children play games on the river shore
while I watch, laughing, by the cottage door.
The men who burn what I build in hot fire
laugh when I sing lament on broken lyre.
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