The Quiet

 oil on canvas, 54" x 50", 2006

The Quiet

By: Bryan Rye

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We dance apple trees and cherry blossoms

to music older than passing breath.

It is a song that does not end but few hear it. 

Stop.  Listen. 

Perhaps you will be moved as we.

 

We dance airy pinks and gentle whites

to a song from the first dawn and perhaps older still. 

It is a dance without pause

from beginnings to the end. 

 

Here in the peaceful place,

the quiet place.  We will invite you.

Near the pale water.  Let the mountains hem you in,

share in the joy of grass stepping to wind. 

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