An invitation
into birdsong
and abundance.
Good books
and a tabled feast.
Into story
and song.
Hidden things
and things revealed.
Flowers and fields
and deeply rooted trees.
Mystery and treasure.
Languages and calloused hands.
Friends and lovers.
Tears of joy and despair.
A butterfly.
Sandcastles on the beach
and forts in the living-room.
Belly laughs.
A held hand.
Knowing and being know.
A candle and a home.
What of this invitation?
Written fittingly on linen
and pressed gold type?
But no.
A spoken invite.
Whispered from one
to another.
A durable word
undiminished on the wind.
An invitation.
Yes.
Into rest.