Art: Brooklyn Swenson
“Something told the wild geese
It was time to go.
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered,—‘Snow.’
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned,—‘Frost.’
All the
joy is knowing
the best of views
fuels volition
to climb the mount
joy is having
freedom to choose
which obstruction
one must surmount
joy is knowing
hearing the muse
is like drinking
from the youth fount
joy is having
nothing to lose
and yet having
blessings to co
when there's no vim
the land to till
joy swells the wind
running the mill
when there's no verve
the page to fill
joy lights the spark
moving the quill
when obstacles
challenge the skill
joy marks the path
leading uphill
when restrictions
deter the will
