Comments about Trevor Toews
The world is turning clockwise,
and the ticking doesn't stop.
The rigid hands, like marching bands,
move forward round the clock.
And desperate backward snatches,
yield nothing in my grasp.
The rolling hearse has no reverse,
that bears away the past.
I'd like to live them over,
those sets of circumstance
When, called to rise and mobilize,
I left it all to chance.
I'd like to seize and salvage,
quick words that I have said,
And in their place, to have the grace,
for kinder ones instead.
The aura of the moment
I failed ...
The Unborn Child
The unborn child,
As she waits in darkness for the coming dawn,
Wrapped in solitude's restricting bands,
Is nurtured by a life line, fed and cared for
In ways she doesn't even understand.
And all the while sensing her mother's pulsing heart
She hears the far off murmur of that voice
And somehow knows…
That is the one who gives her life.