What grain of sand
What grain of sand
© 2005 George Reed
What grain of sand caught in the wind was last to spy him there…
What gust of wind on bitter plain ran to the bitter glare…
What glare shone forth in morning long when harrowed was the day…
What day was this whose needful deeds took a friend away…
How many are the hours then until the coin is spent…
How many coins are changing hands to pay a demon’s rent…
What demon calls the ones who go, never to return…
Returning longed for, never gained, and nothing more is learned…
A ring there is within a box of dark and burnished wood…
The Box is marked with many runes, bespeaking of the good…
A friend once did in bringing true the dreams of gentle mother…
The dreams have gone and also has my ancient desert brother…
Posted: December 29th, 2005 under Songs.
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