Unfolding Limbs

My love blossoms each year in the spring
the farmer man never hesitates
to pick up his cleaver
and chop it down

my eyes ache from the winter slumber
as the sun peaks around the bend in the earth
Eye see things that eye never knew would come

some return to warm my heart
some new to the emerging light

each a moment burned into eternity
each a delight

but each morning the farmer
picks up his tools and shapes
the crops again

Eye look to the east and see flags wave and pearls creating

fists raised this year again, and people put into their place
into the ground, into the the machine, into the sky

No one gets away with anything
but whole nations act as though they will

they won't, don't worry love, they won't

In the end, the truth be told, the truth be told.

please.







Scott Lindsley
Cw - April 23-05