Out of dust, children’s poets
enter dandelion houses in time.
Poesy, the bard — the unattained —
golden hours stepping heavenward.
Trust mental solitude, twilight wayfarer:
religion is a dream – an incident – errors.
Opine pilgrim-duty’s life-long martyrdoms:
reason –self-punishment – mutual annihilation.
Still, the drowned mariner answered the summons
Added his aging voice to the eleventh hour farewell.
Ah, flowers of innocence – sleep of plants– the brook!
Childhood’s laughter echoes the ministering spirits too.
. . . . .
Poet: Susan Powers Bourne
Source: Maine Women Poets
Process: Pick and mix cento