by Winifred Rawlins
When thinking fades and slows
Into a waiting, when images
Enter the eye but the seeing eye is still,
When the ear receives sound but is quiet within,
Then nothingness suddenly invades its own home,
Is there, is there on the threshold,
Filling the void with a deafening, soundless throbbing
Of its urgent, tender wings.
from Dreaming Is Now, published by Golden Quill Press.
(c) 1963, All right reserved.