Hearing the Piper
.Crone Jane, I hope you do not mind. I will not disturb your meditations, you'll never even see my shadow, but it seems that, as always, you have brought inspiration with you. Your words on meditation and prayer are so rich. Another poem has escaped!
I come here to empty
Piper Play on . . .
Wash away the remains of what has gone wrong
Scrub off clinging patches of dried, crusted dirt
Scour off bitter remnants of old, festered hurt
Piper, here in the golden throat of your song
Is a note that is sweet, echoed and strong
I will learn to be like it, wash away all that’s there
Until I’m a hollow bowl waiting for prayer
Waiting to be filled with an inspired wine
Ambrosia of creation, gift of the Divine
Like your note, I’ll come hollow, and wait to be filled
I’ll be the snow where the Master will build
I will be the empty canvas where the joy dance is drawn
Piper play on . . .
Piper play on . . .
©Edwina Peterson Cross
posted by Unknown @ 5:30 PM
1 comments
The 
1 Comments:
Dearest Winnie, Rather then be bothered I feel honored that within my personal meditations you find inspirations. I love reading where a few words I have said can take you. A silly analogy is that I am all dressed to go out in the snow but forget my hat, and you come along and put one on my head. The exciting thing is that this mornings meditation, which I am about to write up, is to be about words, humbleness and emptying. Also the new art work that my head is spinning out is dominantely empty jugs. I love to read your work. Jane
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