(by jann castor, Friday, May 24, 2002)

The jug is empty.
although gold and shinimg 

Make it full.

The fields are empty
although the plough still cuts the soil for the furrow.

Grow the seed.

You wanted to reap the fruit
without waiting for a season to come?

Oh, lover, have you lost your sight?

We can only  rejoice
where the sun meets the sea.

I will be there


copyright  Jann C. Castor  © 2002