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Following this post, I received a wonderful poem from Mary Yaus, who wrote these lines:

Round and round she goes
thinking about,
nobody but she knows
but have no doubt
it is deep within her heart
radiating into her soul
holding on to life
with gentle hands
feeling vibrational bands
she looks deep into the eyes
reflecting of all her tomorrows
you can almost here her sigh
through thoughts in contemplations
not sorrows
round and round the carousel takes her
dreaming into the silence of words
waiting for her thoughts to be heard
she’ll grab the brass ring
and her heart will open and sing
letting the world see the grace she shall bring

Thank you Mary for adding your own wonderful contribution.

Lee and Isabel.

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Black Mountainside

Black Mountainside

There are no dead, they walk the air we breath,
they speak through the tomes of ashes in their mouths.

Though numbed by passing and surpassing fear
and bound to being on this trembling ground

I stand on all the while you spin me round
the axis of a passion or a year –
giddied I listen, having no choice but hear

your song composed of noteless silent sound
as if unhemmed, and your whole nature crowned

in hints caught up in waves – now blurred, now near.
the lapping waters absolves
my deepest fears

running my fingers through your body
over the waters, shimmering, a face

I’ve half thought yours appears to smile and call,
and back I call, Time – come – I am the space

you long to lodge in and take over all
the darkest corners from and light in grace
unsure if still I stumble, rise, or fall.

The Girl With Bubbles In Her Hair

Nine o’clock after a storm of tears
and bed time, soothing talk
of things to do tomorrow,

and a laugh about the things
we did today, followed by a story
from a book with pictures,

then she settles down,
her arms around my neck,
and pauses between questions

as she thinks her way to sleep
with bubbles in her hair.