As you grow older, closer to

light, abyss, memory,

as you read about strangers’ deaths

in acquaintance obituaries,

as you contemplate so many strangers–

Do you long for more quietude, less of?

Are mountains no longer for climbing and

were they ever, always?

Can you now, finally, hear the words?

They are mouthed in the fragrance of sunwash

and light on water and ancient tongues.

Seek the Lord.

By Prof. Snell

Poetry is my thing!

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