There are textbooks to read
and essays to write,
and studies to do
so the tests are done right.

There is music to hear,
there are lessons to learn
from pain set to strings,
from lives never heard.

There are stories to read
of fantastical lands,
to make the mind reach
where life never can.

There are scriptures on which
the heart may feast,
to learn of truth
that lies underneath.

There are bridges to build
from the ash of those burned,
for a heart set free
is better than spurned.

There are patches to sew
in the fabric of life,
scars to heal over
the pains and the strife.

There are things to do
and promises to keep,
and a lifetime filled
with hills too steep;

but a lifetime full
if we’ll only see
that the love of this world
courses through you and me.

© Blake Leitch March 19, 2017

One’s basket is simply that,
ne’er more or less.
And when the chook is underfed,
the evidence lies in her nest.
When the chook is underfed
and the eggs are scarc’ly few,
how very easy it is to place
them all in One’s purview.
How easy it becomes
to forget a wider scope
as each solitary egg
becomes One’s lasting hope.
And yet, when ev’ry egg
is but one of a dozen more,
how quickly One’s little basket
becomes a veritable and d’verse store.

© Blake Leitch January 10, 2017