Liilia Talts Morrison Poems

Another raft washed to the shore
another story told
another incident at sea
of souls and bodies bold
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A wooden bed and mat of straw
a little wayside room
where people cannot bother me
but sun can warm the gloom
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When Ma has stopped her sweeping
And Pa snuffed out the lamps
And all the world is sleeping
It’s time for tales by Gramps
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He rides among the highways
where dawn has strewn her veils
his mane blends into sunsets
his hooves leave clouds as trails
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Christmas is for children
Time to make a fuss
Christmas is for old and young
And every one of us
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Abundance is a lovely thing
who wouldn't want to have it?
a cellar filled with summer fruit
and fields a sea of heather
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Salty fish in crusted brine
dark brown bread with sour wine
cod and herring pickled long
sauerkraut fermented strong
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We were just little children
In war torn wayside lanes
Yet roses were still blooming
In fields of pink and white
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As campfire flames still upward danced
Full knowing they would die
So was our fireside love a trance
A doomed and searing lie
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Today I saw a fallow field
Where last year rows of grain had grown
On warm earth resting from past chores
Dry reeds now formed a gentle shield
...