Blooms in Disguise
Has it set the tone
When the old mill stone
No longer turns the grain to flower?
When the thoughts of man
Can’t devise a plan
To rival their finest hour?
Does the rain fall down
Down on the ground
For the sake of a river or stream?
Can we hope for a world
Where truth is unfurled
And not crucified by some sick dream?
Yes, the sound from our clock
Doesn’t go, Tick-tock,
It is as silent as a mid-night flower
That blooms in disguise
And in lullabies
During our finest hour.
D. Thurmond / JE Falcon
06-20-2018
