T(r)oy's Marbles
on climbing hills
Not waiting for You, climbing up the hill,
I slip and stumble. Still, Your hand
upon my shoulder is so strong;
and every boulder sings a song of love
while, high above,
Your laughter draws me on and on;
and ever since that morning
there has been no right or wrong, but love.
--from Hillclimbing for Beginners
poetry | Comments (0) | July 06, 2005