Be the late summer sun shadows on the forest floor.
Be the bird singing in the silence,
the peacemaker in the war of words,
courageous conveyor of compassion in the face of cruelty,
lone leaf landing softly.

When the world devolves in chaos
into a newly primordial soup,
will the ravens still soar,
wings outstretched against the deep blue backdrop of sky,
sunlit clouds fading into nothing?
Will the lone bird still sing?

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018


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