My how the bundle of twigs and the yarn of your burrow will miss you tonight, as they spend their first night alone.
“How will I sleep without the warmth of your soft tawny fur or without the rhythmic lullaby of your tiny heart?” the burrow cries.
And how the small foot path which leads to the spring will miss the delight of your paws, as she sleeps untraveled.
The river beyond your burrow and past the foot path weeps “Where has the delight of your tongue gone? Whose thirst can I now quench?”
The crumbs left by the satisfied sparrows lay in anxious wait for the dormouse.
“Oh, our dormouse how we long to meet you! To fulfill our worth by satisfying your hunger! Has the streams thirst for you blinded her and extinguished the spark within your tiny heart? How we long to meet our dormouse! I pray your passing not true.
Yet more anxious is the one who sent the wind to carry the yarn and commanded the twigs to fall on the dormouse path, who called the rain to fall and the banks to swell. If only the crumbs knew the Father’s delight at the dormouse’s joy as he now eats the crumbs of the masters table.
Even the burrow could hear the cries of the Father as he mourned the banks swelling that plucked you from the delight of the footpath and burrow and led you to the feast. As did the river mourn and weep as she had to take you friend.
“Take comfort burrow for your dweller’s soft tawny body lay in sand of a soft new burrow. And do not become lonely foot path, yet be comforted that his paws joyously travel the paths of hereafter. To the crumbs I say, rest in joyful longing for the next creature to be satisfied by you. And though the river took you, may her weeping be consumed with laughter and may she be comforted that her friends thirst will be eternally satisfied by the wine from my feasting table.”
Mystic, Hippie, Anarchist, Revolutionary