One Class

A few pairs of starry eyes
Bespeaking inner mines
Of glittering gold –
Words running like gentle rain
Down the panes of crystal souls –
Hands raised like smiling lips –
Hearts and minds in unison.

This was my class
My hand-picked blossoms
From boughs of the same fruit tree
Laden with the lush promises
Of ripe bushels.

This was my spring and my fountain
Of fresh alpine water –
The moisture of Being
And the life-giving sap.

This was my bunch of fragrant flowers
In full bloom
Beheld and praised by bleary eyes
In my room
For cool and warm seasons on end –
Until the postponeless goodbyes.

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