Mottled colors flutter
like butterflies,
await
the pristine white
canopies —
Wind-parched leaves
mantle the oak-brown
soil with topaz and jasper
above the dormant seeds
of wilted wildflowers —
Hearken to horse-hoof
raindrops,
the muffled fracture
of petioles letting go
at the eleventh hour
when all the coins of time
are spent
and the egrets of winter
alight
upon the emerald cedar
branches.
D. G. Vachal © 2015
Photo credit: Igor Burdin
The days ride the chariot of the whirlwind:
tomorrow’s sun is yet to be appointed —
you hold this moment’s gold, this second’s gem.
Today is bread that feeds your hunger,
strength for constricted hands
that throb to open to those in need,
(always, there are those in need)
bestow kindness even to those unkind.
Give, give of this bread,
this bread of today,
each broken crumb of every fleeting second,
scatter with abandon to reach
the hungry mouths,
even the birds of the air,
the beasts of the field —
As you give of your daily bread,
verily you will be fed.
D. G. Vachal © 2014
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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