The heart that John heard

Many times and seasons pretend to sway our way,

and drop their hints of monotony – but fail.

 

Few are the banks of shuddered-down snow

on pathways already hidden from our feet.

 

Many are the pedals on wayward flowers

refusing a lesser share of their own song.

 

Few are the words ill-spoken from lips

more accustomed to smile or kiss.

 

Many the moving notes from the still page,

to still the ravaged breast will come.

 

Few, or none, the children, playground-found,

whose voices, loud and ardent, disappoint.

 

Many weary eyes are pointed upward where

hills, apart and distant, croon.

 

Few there be to quell the wish of

night-fallen star-gazers seeking.

 

And altogether, met and threaded down,

in aching stillness from the heart that John heard.

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2 thoughts on “The heart that John heard

  1. First reaction: “This is perfect!” … Now that’s established, I’ll go back for a second, third and fourth read. I’ve probably said this before but I can’t wait for these to be put in a book I can take to read in faraway places with no WiFi.

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