listen

... But if we listen to the child who lives in our soul, our eyes will grow bright.  If we do not lose contact with that child we will not lose contact with life.

PAULO COEHLHO, BY THE RIVER PIEDRA I SAT DOWN AND WEPT 

time flies

Sed fugit interea, fugit inreparabile tempus.*

VIRGIL, GEORGICS, II

*But time flies meanwhile, flies never to return. 

dreaming child

I learned what every dreaming child needs to know - that no horizon is so far you cannot get above it or beyond it.

BERYL MARKHAM, WEST WITH THE NIGHT 

listen to a pebble

If the birds forget their songs

                       listen to a pebble instead.

COOPER EDENS 

you of my heart

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, i say if this should be-
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

e. e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

e. e. cummings

flash of a firefly

What is life: It is the flash of a firefly in the night.  It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time; it is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

CROWFOOT