Oh, wondrous splendor!
Leaves as pages of our lives
falling into space of void,
fodder for renewal.
Needing nothing but the flask
for filling up the empty cider.
Stinging nettles, prickly pears...
Life’s rose amidst the thorns.
“Ah”...he cries, though vanquished by a distant foe.
Now...the herald angels sing
Hosanna...Oh, on High!
And so they hover...
Golden wingspan crossing wisdom’s gate.
“Is it too late?” the young man cries beside the road.
Never too late...Never too late.
The doors of heaven fling wide open
Bidding Welcome...
The Myth of Separation gone.
~Kathleen Jacoby