Whatever does the lily say
When frozen ‘neath the snow?
What does it feel when bright of day
Coaxes it from below?
Whatever can it think of when
Its leaves begin to spread?
And when its petals open, then
What thinks it of its bed?
Tag: iambic heptameter
The four winds
Not idly doth the east wind blow
So cool and whistling clear
Nor do in vain the rains follow
Patt’ring for all to hear
Not quiet is the western wind
When it winds to and fro
It twists and eddies as if twinned
With crooked creeks below
Not bashful is the wind from north
Its biting, frigid breath
With fervor does it sally forth
Along with wintry death
The south wind is, ‘mong them, a boon
That carries warm and welcome air
That sighs on us like to the moon
So free, so kind, and best: so fair
But a part
All beauty of the earth resounds
In songs both wild and free
But learn we must: though it abounds,
Its bounty’s not for me
The trees do whistle, bend, and creak
The birds cry loud and high
And though to hear them we may seek
They’re not for you and I
The earth is its own
And we but a part
They are as seeds
I have not lost nor set aside
The years that led to now
They are as seeds of num’rous trees
That grow with me each day
The works of humankind
Let none who list’n to music grand—
And none who love to read—
And none who gaze on paintings fine—
And none who clap for dance—
Let not one of them look upon
The works of humankind
And tell you that a man cannot
Move mountains with his hands.
2/5/2021 – winter snow
Like blankets on the frozen ground
The whitest snow resides
It dampens all the sound around
And calms the soul besides
Lost
I sometimes think that I am lost
In folds of time and space
And wond’ring whether I have crossed
Again some friendly face
I find myself gazing toward
The spaces I’ve forgot
The places where my soul has soared
Before this time, this lot
If I remembered them I could
Learn all their lessons wise
Those mem’ries floating like driftwood
Beneath uncharted skies
A Poem A Day 