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Nov 11th - Poem First Light

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  • Laurence
    When one looks back at our History within a certain perspective we sometimes wonder how we survive. Man continually strives to create what many seem as a
    Message 1 of 2 , Nov 10, 2003
      When one looks back at our History within a certain perspective we
      sometimes wonder how we survive. Man continually strives to create
      what many seem as a perfect world. I live surrounded by nature.
      420 acres of which I am but the caretaker. I am a Witch, Element
      Air, Libra and inlove with all the Lady's beauty. When an
      individual offer's a life for the good of the whole it should be
      celebrated, loved and cherished.

      Keith lawson, an old trucker, and a dear anam cara and mentor,
      taught me to respect each man and woman I met, My Mother taught me
      that sacrifice is a gift and my Grandmother that in ritual with
      others there is great power to be shared. The Lady has taught me
      that life, not death is the greatest gift. That only through
      renewal of self can we create a way of life that reflects our
      varying beliefs. The following is my gift to those who have
      Journeyed to the Summerland these many years ago and gave me the
      opportinity to look upon the world and offer change.

      First Light

      Scudding clouds draped the moon
      In a circled pearly haze
      Wind sighed amongst the twisted stumps
      Shadows mocked each bleary gaze

      Restless sighs bore down the line
      With muttered curse or two
      Sharpened steel gleamed in morning's light
      Gently touched by morning dew

      Lighting lit the sky
      Then thunder filled the air
      Whistles sounded in the morn
      And death abounded there

      Through the wire, up the hill
      To gun's staccato roar
      Sighing, gently falling
      As leaves upon the moor

      This hill they sought was just a hill
      Once kissed by sun and sky
      This hill they took was just a hill
      And no one questioned why

      For soldiers march to different drums
      Then either you or I
      First light is not a blessing
      Just their time to die

      So when you're kissed by morning light
      And caressed by its morning dew
      Think of those who win your peace
      And pay death's price for you

      )0(
      Laurence Rutt
      25 May 2002
    • Laurence
      When one looks back at our History within a certain perspective we sometimes wonder how we survive. Man continually strives to create what many seem as a
      Message 2 of 2 , Nov 10, 2003
        When one looks back at our History within a certain perspective we
        sometimes wonder how we survive. Man continually strives to create
        what many seem as a perfect world. I live surrounded by nature.
        420 acres of which I am but the caretaker. I am a Witch, Element
        Air, Libra and inlove with all the Lady's beauty. When an
        individual offer's a life for the good of the whole it should be
        celebrated, loved and cherished.

        Keith lawson, an old trucker, and a dear anam cara and mentor,
        taught me to respect each man and woman I met, My Mother taught me
        that sacrifice is a gift and my Grandmother that in ritual with
        others there is great power to be shared. The Lady has taught me
        that life, not death is the greatest gift. That only through
        renewal of self can we create a way of life that reflects our
        varying beliefs. The following is my gift to those who have
        Journeyed to the Summerland these many years ago and gave me the
        opportunity to look upon the world and offer change.

        First Light

        Scudding clouds draped the moon
        In a circled pearly haze
        Wind sighed amongst the twisted stumps
        Shadows mocked each bleary gaze

        Restless sighs bore down the line
        With muttered curse or two
        Sharpened steel gleamed in morning's light
        Gently touched by morning dew

        Lighting lit the sky
        Then thunder filled the air
        Whistles sounded in the morn
        And death abounded there

        Through the wire, up the hill
        To gun's staccato roar
        Sighing, gently falling
        As leaves upon the moor

        This hill they sought was just a hill
        Once kissed by sun and sky
        This hill they took was just a hill
        And no one questioned why

        For soldiers march to different drums
        Then either you or I
        First light is not a blessing
        Just their time to die

        So when you're kissed by morning light
        And caressed by its morning dew
        Think of those who win your peace
        And pay death's price for you

        )0(
        Laurence Rutt
        25 May 2002
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