Saturday, May 5, 2007


The fountain of love
With its water flow
My hands folded into my lap
I have come to know
The many people who walk by
Mothers with children
Grandmothers who cry
Dogs on a walk
Buses go by,kids who use chalk
Drawing a hopscotch pattern
They play in the park
Today I met a lady who binds old books
I imagined her clearing away the dust
From what thought did the author begin
What did they go through to get to the flow
These are things I would never know
Who had picked up this book and read
Chances are they were all dead
Being as the book was 80 years old
The young lady of fair complexion
Looked off in the general direction
Observing the people at the fountain
She seemed beside herself
Like she was upon a floral mountain
Then turning to me in my silence
She explained
I fix the bindings of books
Resurecting authors
Their words are all that has remained
Of that spark of life within them
That once lived in its role
Reviving them is like observing
A part of their giving soul
A forgotten book in decay
Is like watching life ebb away
I was glad I had come to the park
The sound of the water at the fountain
The laughter of children in the distance
A chance meeting with someone
Who had given me
Words of wisdom to take home
Where I could place them upon my mantle
Returning to those thoughts
On cold lonely evenings
When all is silent
Old books revived bring forth new vision
In a fountain that never knows of droughts

© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved

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