It ain't over yet...

 In a gust of wind, like a long heavy sigh, 
As the autumn leaves fall, they think, "It's over."
The rose nearest to the thorn appears out of nowhere,
The strange autumn rose that brings the winter wind,
Prior to withering before it like summer memories.
Don't withhold your hand from the rose for fear of the thorn.
A rose by itself is every rose and speaks all languages,
The rose does not care by what name you call it,
For after winter comes spring, and after night the day,
We are the link between the micro and the macro.
O Lord, I pray for all of those poor people
Who have no one to hug and pray for them,
And I also pray for those who will not pray.
I do not pray like a pigeon jerking its head up and down.
I Pray like your dog when he puts his head on your knee,
And looks you in the eye with love and devotion,
Pray for yourself until the day dawns in your mind's eye,
And the morning star rises in your heart,
Then begin to love others as you love yourself.
I am a prayer for you, my friend, and you are my "Amen!"

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