The Beckoning

What we are

When snow falls unheard

Where wind waits

And always beckons

 

What is always beckoning

When silence is seen

Where dreams were lost

  And we are longing

 

What we are is here

When warmth crashes down

Where patience washes over

And the beckon echoes

 

What has always beckoned

When time is forgotten

Where details grasp

And we are, what we are

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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