as long as
the summer breeze washes away the parasitic sweat of the day
the snake slithers and does not speak
the sun burns for the love makers underneath the shade of the oak
as long as
the moths circle the light bulb, feeding on the time before darkness
lips can still find each other, amidst all the mouths that will not close
a man can sing his sadness, and cry tears of autumn on the leaves
as long as
that wall of stone encircles the secrets of what we will hold
rain can flood, and make puddles in the ground, where we may step
eyes will take in what they have seen, instead of throwing out what they
wish was true
as long as
there is at least one bird who decides that he will sing for those who
would care to listen the new snowflake can fall upon a spring flower,
where we can watch someone can whisper under moonlight, and be heard by
his footsteps in the dark
as long as
silence can make a sound
the warmth of a bed sheet can shield a child from the window to the cold
winter night a fish may leave the school, and swim to uncharted waters,
and learn to fly
Poem © 2000 Russell Moore, all rights reserved
