this one started off as a sonnet, then became what it wanted to become…

July 20, 2014

The words we write, the lines,
the notes, the rhymes
are always seeking their destination:
a landing place, a comfort zone,
a peace inside a peace.

Sometimes they find their place,
and sprout like seeds,
but sometimes they fall in sandy soil,
on stones, or disappear
into a hollow pit of nothingness.

But even then, like seeds, our words
await their chosen moment,
their time most opportune
to germinate and take root.

Everything in its own time,
the old folks used to say.

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Author: Raymond Maxwell

https://raymmaxx.wordpress.com/ Librarian, retired foreign service manager and former naval officer. Strong interests in information architecture, instructional design, critical pedagogy, taxonomies and metadata management, information governance, and cultural heritage preservation.

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