By Abigail Leigh
Beneath the sun’s falter-less eye
And migrating bird’s breast, I
Wander the home of the lily bud—the verdant soil,
My foot-bellies dressed in mud.
For what reason do I toil?
Beneath descendant rain-beams, bent
The fanned fowl feeds, peacefully
In still-shaded streams
While wild things rest, sowing not.
And yet for my needs,
Do I take thought?
Beneath mountain obliques, peaked
Tale-telling timbers, undressing, creak,
Speak as if to say—shhh!
Steadily, hear leaf-lulled lullabies sing
Over seasons, our ushers, their breeze
Do you not believe winter turns to spring?
More breath I do not reap, nor moments do I keep
Spinning after wind-blown cloth, collecting rusty moths
Untaxed is nature (the bird, the fish),
Yet all is accomplished.
Souls who thirst, seek—His Kingdom first.
Abigail Leigh is a harpist and poet from Oregon. As a self-proclaimed paradox, both a creative and analytical being, she draws inspiration from life's dichotomies: the belief that light and darkness, growth and decay, and joy and sorrow travel in tandem. Every season has a story to tell, and she writes because she is committed to unveiling truth from learned experiences. Her poetry has been published in Darling Magazine, Black Fox Literary Magazine, Equinox Biannual Journal and Clayjar Review.
Abigail's other work on Foreshadow:
A Deeper Calling (Poetry, October 2022)
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