The Nature of Peace


Sometimes this feeling sets in—

as if that whole field of flowers

is gold

and wine

and perfect.

Some feel that way

when spring unfolds

its leaves

and petals

and sunshine flows

and we listen to the cadence

of downy reds, drumming

their way ’round an old tree trunk.

Others think—as the peepers gather

and the chorus swells—

that these are ordinary sounds.

I believe that what we hear

is simply the beat

of life’s mystical heart.

* * *

“The Nature of Peace,” by Mary O’Connor, Dreams of a Wingless Child, Wheatmark, Tuscon, AZ © 2007


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