Meadow's Mourning

The horse sighs in the meadow,
   The meadow of my mourning.

How is it that I can see it everywhere out there,
   But when I look for it within it's never nearly as clear.

I write it, seek it, but it cannout
   Be found though trying.

Only by resting into a place of peace and quiet will it come,
   For it cannot be sought.

So I quiet and wait and expect,
   but that, again, quite looks like effort.

Through it's letting go and release,
   The only way into mourning's meadow.

Photo by Omar Prestwich on Unsplash