Courtesy: Poets United

As the day draws to a close

The Ganga* loses herself in the sea

Poetry words blunt into prose

The night writes the stars for me



The hawk-eye is fixed on the mice

Worms shift to beaks from the bark

Flowing water hardens into ice

I’ve fireflies to write in the dark



I am glad that I was born

I am glad that I shall die

I am glad that my path was of thorn

I will never ask Thou why




*The Ganges


Posted for my Midweek Motif ~ Acceptance @ Poets United