Whistling for Moonbeams

somewhere unspeaking sits my life;the grim clenched mind of me somewhere begins again, -E.E. Cummings-

Tumbling-hair                         picker of buttercups                                                          violets dandelions...

     Miracles are to come. With you I leave a remembrance of miracles:they are by somebody who can love and who shall be continually reborn,...