Oh, for a quiet day,
a day where there is no rush at all,
because there is no place to go
and nothing that needs doing.
because there is no place to go
and nothing that needs doing.
Oh, for a quiet day,
and a ramble over frost-frizzed fields,
tracing a circle that begins and ends
at a hallowed hollow called home.
and a ramble over frost-frizzed fields,
tracing a circle that begins and ends
at a hallowed hollow called home.
On that quiet day,
we can contemplate all we have done
and all we that might yet to do,
within the spectrum of desires.
we can contemplate all we have done
and all we that might yet to do,
within the spectrum of desires.
But this is quite a day,
for there is no expectation of doing,
accomplishment, planning or plotting;
today, all that is beside the point.
for there is no expectation of doing,
accomplishment, planning or plotting;
today, all that is beside the point.
Oh, bless this cold, quiet day!
Day where all the world finds rest
away from all trials and tasks, to bask,
in the unexpected warmth of the sun.
Day where all the world finds rest
away from all trials and tasks, to bask,
in the unexpected warmth of the sun.
© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen
