in gentle voices lullabying
a cradle song.
Truth emanating from words
uniting historical and ultimate dimensions.
There is no here and there
no from and to
no moving, no becoming.
There is only love
pure, innocent, tender
fresh as a child
lullabying a cradle song.
Sweet as flower scents
adorning the bedroom.
Precious as this moment
of no moving, no becoming.
© 28 Jan 18
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