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Tuesday, April 8, 2014


All of man’s seasons
bring natural inventions,
peace the best of them.

Spring is not summer.
Pickles can’t be cucumbers.
Peace is who one is.

One sings of summer,
winter’s grip soon forgotten.
Peace always trumps fear.

Summer’s final breath,
ravens scouting new year’s nests,
monks still pray for peace.

Autumn’s first breezes,
humans spy as birds build homes,
wrens find peace mid-air.

Days of thanksgiving
abound with friendship and joy.
There is bliss in peace.

As winter draws near,
perhaps we’ll tread consciously.
Peace is every step.

Winter’s fire is banked,
air dancing above hard coals
At peace in one’s bed.

Living mindfully
in the holiday bedlam.
Peace is a challenge.

No dark without light.
No seasons without changes.
No hope without peace.

There’s but one question,
spring, summer, fall and winter.
Will one work for peace?

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