Dust
of hay
floats
down from
the loft. In
sunlight
it
could be
angels that
watch over calves
at their birth.
Tools hang
on
rusty
nails but blades
shine with
oil
on the
edge.
Oh, poor calves - there they are dust of hay hangs over them, watching over them, like angels in the sky; unknown to them there are sharp knives well greased in oil hanging on tools ready to....do the calves look up and see the tools, or do they see only the angels? Are we not these calves - I pray my angels can keep the knives where they are, not to descend on my throat. This is a remarkable poem, Lillian with a strong play on images of joy and misery! Yes, the calves cannot consume the dust, for what they want is hay, yet their angels are in this dust that appears useless! Magical.10++
What a beautiful picture I see and I can smell the hay such an elegant poem luvli +++10 where's the chickens regards
I love the contrast between tools hanging on rusty nails while the blades' edges shine with oil. strking and hypnotic, makes me think without blinking, without breathing, borne by angels that watch over me.
A picture of beauty, new beginning and raw endings (I hope not) . Always masterfully written in your creative hands Lillian. 10 love Karin
A waltz wave of spirituality, stark reality and quality - an admirable piece. S :)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love the idea of angels in the sunlight guarding the little cow babies..(smile)