Beneath the boughs of the birch trees,
Benevolent breeze blows with ease,
Blowing away the bustling bees,
Bringing a sense of sweet release.
Butterflies dance with buoyancy,
Birds chirp in a blissful harmony,
Beneath the bright blue sky, so free,
Behold, the beauty of the earth, so majesty.
Beneath this beauty, we belong,
Breathing in the blissful song,
Bringing peace to our hearts, so strong,
Beholding the beauty that we long.
Beneath the boughs of the birch trees,
Beyond the bounds of our beliefs,
Behold the beauty that forever frees,
Beckoning us towards a life of peace.
About the Creator
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munsona day ago in Fiction
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