The Burden of

_________________

The proof is in the
Pudding.

Not the plate.

The birds of the air
Sing this song as
I rise this morning.

They never cease.
They do not grieve,
Do not grumble.

It’s not about finding
The worm, it’s not
About being early.

Sow.
Reap.
Gather.

Toil.
Spin.
Toil.

Spin.

It’s not about this.
My mouth births
Small cloud in this

Winter.

This is a miracle.
God-breathed.
This is what I am.

No need to

Spin.
Toil.
Spin.

God is the pudding.

--Oct. 25, 2009--
© 2009 vagrant moon