a smallest voice might cry

don’t stand unmoving outside

i yearn to touch and to be touched 

like waving grain across the plains

the spring burr oak may always uncurl

and should some why completely weep 

through haves of give or of sleep

draw closer to me, closer to me a million times

with my greatest desire—show me hope 

for a benign universe

lifting the valley of the sea

in my shining here lifetime 






First ideas from:  http://happinessishereblog.com/2016/01/comfort-is-always-ok/  posted on FB by my daughter

Then the poem pulled some innocent phrases from: “my father moved through dooms of love” e.e. cummings, poets.org —a perennial post.