The dust settles, the dry air clears.
After months of stirring, we’re unfurling here.
The dust settles, I am still.
I am still in turmoil every second that passes my windowsill.

Come on, let’s not hurry past this place.
Take a moment to stop and smile and taste the honey,
The milk that flows
The daffodils, the roses, they show, they call.

They call me to wait.
They call me to wait.
To bait my breathe.
They call me to slow.
They call me to slow
Down. To let the smaller voice be found.

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