TELL ME, PLEASE

I do not have the answer, but know the source of this fair poem that flows down the page with feelings from the heart of you Longobardolino. What can we say? All utterance is futile and cannot explain the why, the what or the wherefore. We try to do so in poetry and weave strange answers of our own, but when the end is reached we are all left with the same question mark. ? Your Annuccia

for the ground is a dangerous place to walk all over to peck at one needs energy used up in steps with not enough to fill the beak from weakness accident disease the fallen come to terms wounded as they be some comforted in their moment by saviours and angels tended hour by minute some abandoned by fear their mortality signals the children flee the mates re-mate freinds fade away what have any of us done to come here on this blue world we are crash landed looking at our litter the photos and papers that tell us who we are who we were where we may be going Our sun earth spinning glimpsing us the sun reflecting the moons light showing us the cold of stars of all the endless possibilities we are started and we have begun to only just dream.......

Who knows the why of things? That they are is. And that we are poets bringing the sky to meet the earth is what makes us who we are... and that gives wings... Love. ~A "The way you make love is the way God will be with you." Rumi

Isn't it lovely how inspiration comes? One never knows from who...from where... ;-) ~A "The way you make love is the way God will be with you." Rumi

Ann of Norway Just heard this I don't know where from, this might apply on several poems. "Searching after something you miss can make you loose what you have." Annuccia