A Poem: Blanketed

The sky is but a blanket to cover us
in this garden of the world in which we play.

I can hear your laughter ringing out,
like youthful memories of summer evenings
at the edge of dusk,
when the first stars emerged
and voices would be carried for miles.

Yes, the sky is but a blanket,
in this garden in which we live and love.

I can see you stretched on the grass,
the lazy humming of a bee, or swatting of a fly,
the only distraction from the pleasant sense
of sun burnishing skin.
I could reach out to touch your hand.

Yes, the sky is but a blanket,
in this world in which we play.

All of us running at the bottom of the garden,
hiding behind the wisteria, dabbling in the stream,
everything is drawn out here forever,
until a window opens
and someone’s called home for tea.

Yes, will you meet me here,
in the garden?

I will not have forgotten your face.
Everyone here,
is one of us here,
and though the shadows fall,
we know each other’s names.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
September 2019

Photo:  Edouard Boubates

“Nothing makes the earth seem so spacious as to have friends at a distance; they make the latitudes and longitudes….”

~ Henry David Thoreau

“The entire material universe speaks of God’slove, God’s boundless affection for us.  Soil, water, mountains: everything is, as it were, a caress of God.”

~ Pope Francis in Laudato Si

2 thoughts on “A Poem: Blanketed

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