Touching, feeling, flowing,
Tears, Blood, Craft.
This time is no longer,
And the spirit bird dies.
We cannot survive without it.
From the death comes another,
And possibly the last,
Forsaken child of mine.
Merely to stand, ignorant,
But able to learn,
And to believe,
In the one, true, God.
Copyright © - Duncan N. Cunningham - July 1997