695. Don’t Carry it All

We are all blessed burdens.

Here we come to a turning of the season,
Witness to the arc towards the sun.
The neighbors blessed burden within reason,
Becomes a burden borne of all in one.
And nobody, nobody knows.

We had joy, we had fun… we had.

Let the yoke fall from our shoulders,
Don’t carry it all, don’t carry it all.
We are all our hands and holders,
But meet this bold and brilliant sun.
But this I swear to all.

The Decemberist

A monument to build beneath the arbors.
Upon a cliff that towers towards the trees.
But every vessel pitching hard to starboard,
Lay it’s head on summer’s freckled knees.
And nobody, nobody knows.

Up In My Tree

And there a wreath of trillium and ivy,
Laid upon the body of the boy.
Lazy will the song come from it’s hiding,
Return his quiet certitude to the soil.

The Song From The Hiding

So raise a glass to turnings of the season,
And watch it as it arcs towards the sun.
And you must bear your neighbors burden within reason.
And your labors will be borne when all is done.

Let the yoke fall from our shoulders
Don’t carry it all.

The Decemberist, Don’t Carry it All

A good thing.

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