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— where
does it go? 2011© Michael A. Wells
Magpie Tales 65
6 comments:
Lovely breezy airiness.
I could almost feel the breeze myself! A lovely tribute.
Lovely and light...
A very thoughtful post, posing interesting questions.
I love the question 'where does it go?' I would love to experience that magical place - first hand!
Thoughtful, able versifying.
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