Where do the winds of Assisi
that sweep birds aloft,
dash butterflies gently off course
originate? Winds that kissed
the bearded face of St. Francis
that brought stillness to all creatures
around him. Their assemblage
replete with order.
Is there a beginning of such grace?
Does it start of nowhere and become?
Is it thrown swiftly underhand
by God himself?
And when it settles— wheredoes it go?
2011© Michael A. Wells
Magpie Tales 65