Peace enters softly,
carried in by the gentle breath of a first spring breeze.
Peace whispers its own name in the midst of
snowflake leftovers that stop by to chat awhile,
leaving their feathered thoughts behind
to blend with spring glistenings.
Peace watches ants busied with the gathering of
crumblings from systems long decayed
and powers futilized.
Peace hears the bubblings of real joy
entering the living stream, then waterfalling
through the channels of despair and
tears squeezed out of pain.
Peace knows
prepares
and waits for the eyes and ears of hearts
tuned to wonder and beauty where it all
begins
and ends
and begins again.
Margery Layton
2000
