By Shirley Segev
© Shirley Segev
Permission is given hereby to all who want to use these poems personally for their enjoyment and/or share them freely with others: verbally, in writing, online, or otherwise, by copying them without making any changes, and as long as they do not receive any payment in return.
Contact: shirley.segev@sympatico.ca
The valley of the unshed tears
is the largest valley of all,
across from the other valley.
It has no drying sun
or shining streams
no lingering trails
no pillar of salt,
its sound thin silence.
It's not far from
the valley of the shadow of death,
you can't miss it.
Opening your eyes
to the morning's glory
is also beggaring
for a few leftover crumbs
of the day's possibilities,
already set in yesterday's
and yesteryear's story
and stark probabilities,
still you hope,
based on some undivined
miraculous cases
that the crumbs hide behind
one or two human, loving
faces.
I look up, overwhelmed
by this avalanche
of spring's yellows
pinks and greens,
a million zillion petals
buds and leaves,
infinite generosity
falling from above
thrown by the sun's
exhaling warm breath,
the dazzling golden light
in breezy flight
dancing from branch to branch,
barely touching
fragrant white blossoms,
cascading down
upon my head,
showering my soul
with dripping joy.