Here is more poetry from my sister’s archives, this from her soon-available volume Sparrow and Meadow.
Early Winter
I sit upon the shoulders of the Earth,
Riding on its hide of glittering grass.
Above, the sphere of sky with endless girth,
An all-abundant blue, where small clouds pass
Like smudges on an errant child's face.
And there is peace and stillness in this place.
I do not know if I will live to see
A time or world that's consonant with this,
This empty orb of quiet; sober, free,
A small, warm sun like one bright, furtive kiss
Upon the heaven's forehead.
But tell me of a time that I should wish instead?
Very nice.
"... This empty orb of quiet; sober, free,
A small, warm sun like one bright, furtive kiss
Upon the heaven's forehead." ❤️