Honor…

Honor...

Honor is a tussock of pliant grass
That bows in unison
To the call of a plower’s chant.
Regal are the trees
That guard the gates of seven horizons,
Each one in timeless repose
While his neighbor is awakened.
A kingdom is summoned here;
Of bodies through portals
Of transcendent humility,
Of breezes that mark the hour
Of seven stages of reckoning,
Of a glorious perspective
That sways in concert
With the hands of the gods.

Art: “Landscape”
Vilhelms Purvītis

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