("Our hearts are restless, till they rest in Thee"
St. Augustine)
sometimes the heart must find rest
from all the questions that it cannot guess
from the quest that keeps falling apart
sometimes the heart runs out of homelands
is tired of taking a stand
is a nameless guest at a nameless feast
and can eat nothing
it will starve watching only the night skies
waiting for signs
oh that it could rest from all contrariness
that it could find a home under the small ferns
where it would be always, Spring.
mary angela douglas 24 november 2021;30 march 2023
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