a straw becomes gold
an arrow in the whirlwind
who can escape it?
….
as in days of yore
the seed springs up eternal
drawn toward the heights
….
Birds of a feather
Flock. Iron sharpens iron.
Chip off the old block.
The apple did not
Fall very far from the tree
After my own heart.
When you were just small
You only ever knew good.
Return. Return now.
Ichthus77 