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Articles & Poetry


The monks of the forest are silent
having taken their vows seriously;
even standing side by side for a lifetime
not a word is spoken.
Only the wind can coax them to murmur
as it gently calls them to sway to its hymns
or moan as it shakes them wildly
to see if they will move.
But not even that can make them
take a step, for rooted deeply,
there is no choice but how to be
with what comes.
And so they live their calling –
no questions asked.
Some here briefly and gone before what would
seem like their time
and others stay well beyond what broken limbs
and hollow core would suggest.
Yet none complain,
their vows unbroken to the end.
They have mastered the art of surrender.

Linda Heron Wind

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