by Liam

Oh! Life, short as a half-taken breath,  

I heave my chest, a fleeting sigh,  

Like the gust that bends the barley’s head,  

Then quietly, leaves the fields shy.

Plant but love in the fertile earth,  

For soil knows the wisdom of words,

Each a promise, each a vow, is a tender birth—  

Roots grow deep where silence confers.

A spade cuts, into the loamy dark,  

Rich soil which cradles the words we sow;  

In the garden of gratitude leave your mark,  

With each tender letter, let love grow.

For cold handed time, though swift, can’t erase.

Nor linger like dust on a summer’s face

The blossoms of  love well-cared or well-said;

Soft and eternal, though the day has fled.

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