The whisperer envelops all, from hot & sighing birth,
Sashaying all in her wake, from the sky & back to earth,
Whispering scents & perfumes of jasmine, sea & rose,
Tiptoeing over those in tombs who lie in sweet repose.
The whisperer is heard in the nuanced suspicion of love,
In angels voices from all around, on high & from above,
Echoing in the sad heat of passion´s last & farewell kiss,
Touching cheek of Aurora in dawn´s soft & weeping mist.
The whisperer is gently felt in the cool & velvety breeze,
Caressing with love, the fingertips of new & eager trees,
Her voice is heard in the wailing of the lost & sorry whales,
She’s what´s felt in the massaging of mountain, tor & dales.
The whisperer´s the Almighty, you feel when close to death,
She´s near when you suspire that final tired & weary breath,
She´s the scatterer of ashes, blowing away from your tomb,
She’s the one who lifts & carries you, back to eternal womb.
© Sue Lobo
Excerpt from the book “The Last Dance”
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Photo Credit: © Lili Saatchi