Barbara Peyton
A
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always irregularly.
Spaces fill with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed.
They existed.
We can be.
Be and be better.
For they existed.
~ When Great Trees Fall
10:57 PM - Feb 20, 2024
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