10-04-2017, 07:14 AM
The Mirror Lakes of Milford Sound
Death did not die here.
Immortality drowned.
Its face pockmarked
by a rain-scarred surface.
On days like today, the wind
is a crystal chime,
and the waters a bead of glass
blown from a mandrel.
Peer into the depths
and you might see
the crushed hand of God.
Death did not die here.
Immortality drowned.
Its face pockmarked
by a rain-scarred surface.
On days like today, the wind
is a crystal chime,
and the waters a bead of glass
blown from a mandrel.
Peer into the depths
and you might see
the crushed hand of God.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson