Friday, 28 February 2014


The festival of Borrowed highlights the idea that we do not own the Earth and its finite resources, we only borrow them, and share them with all other life.

The world hangs in the balance,
a blue bauble on a pendulum
swinging in the void.
Change begins with a butterfly's wing,
a tiny flutter gathering into a storm.
We can all be butterflies.
If you worship the green growing things,
if you honour the three-toed sloths
and the hummingbirds and the pandas,
and the strange beasts of the deep places,
the furry, scaly, leafy textures,
the divine exuberance of life,
then please remember
we are living on borrowed time,
borrowed places, hallowed spaces,
and tread lightly on our sacred home.

1 comment:

emcubed said...

A lovely poem for a cold, grey Friday afternoon. Thanks Yvonne with gratitude and love xx