Our eyes weave paisley patterns of frail leaves. <br />The sun pours thickly over all that grieves. <br />There is an ancient angel in the hills <br />Blowing a song so beautiful it chills. <br /> <br />Heaven and earth are at our fingertips. <br />Time books passage on coffee colored ships <br />Of clouds that heap the atmosphere so high <br />The image creates mountains of good-bye. <br /> <br />Great words alone can never set the pace <br />That turns the mood so heavily through space. <br />We have no final answer for this day <br />Except Perhaps, God wanted it that way. <br /> <br />Previously published; In The Lampost<br /><br />Sandra Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/paisley-patterns/
