To bloom, to flower, to dismantle miseries into melodies.
To change murder to myrrh.
To touch the void, leave our fingerprints upon stars systems.
Famished for good fortune, well fed on the hungers of the needy, we can name all the saints but cannot bend their mercies so one size fits all.
To sing, to seek, to rosary old stones.
To regal and re-gold tired sunrises.
Scatter worries for the birds feasting on hard times.
For the ones flying south in winter, scatter hopes so joy may expand.
RichRant 