Not what has been,
but what will be

In loss, in change,
In time’s decay,
In all the things
That once were
Dreams and now
Are changed,
In scars, in wrinkled
Lines which tell
A story which was
Going somewhere;
The still small voice
Calls out to ears
Now tuned to hear
The softened hush –
Like summer’s silent
Morning breeze.
And on warm currents
Chasing Winter’s cold
And drying Spring’s
Wet weeping, comes
The sound of hope in
Grass-greening refrain,
Drawing the soul
Ever-forward towards
The unwritten tomorrow:
“Not what has been, but what will be.”