A boy cries in a newly opened orphanage in the Shiite enclave of Sadr City In Baghdad, Iraq,
(AP Photo/Hadi Mizban)
Fishing in Winter
by Ralph Burns
A man staring at a small lake sees
His father cast light line out over
The willows. He's forgotten his
Father has been dead for two years
And the lake is where a blue fog
Rolls, and the sky could be, if it
Were black or blue or white,
The backdrop of all attention.
He wades out to join the father,
Following where the good strikes
Seem to lead. It's cold. The shape
Breath takes on a cold day is like
Anything else--a rise on a small lake,
The
A shape already inside a shape,
Two songs, two breaths on the water.
- - -
6 comments:
for peace
I witness.
For peace
I witness
Peace.
I haven't witnessed in a while. 'bout time.
"In our day there is a temptation to manipulate life in ways that do not respect the humanity of the person," Bush said Friday. "When that happens, the most vulnerable among us can be valued for their utility to others instead of their own inherent worth."
I witness
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