And though it’s oft that winds of change
Come galloping through life
We in such times accept the strange
And see past fleeting strife
Tag: iambic meter
5/22/2021 – when chaoses abound
If such is life that often we
Are lost when we’d be found
Why, then, can’t I feel unbound, free
When chaoses abound?
5/20/2021 – how the sound will fall
And with a breath so do we say
The things that fill our minds
Without a mind to how the sound
Will fall on list’ning ears.
The lily, continued
When summer winds blow hot and dry,
What does the lily feel?
When autumn leaves come from the sky,
Do they make for its meal?
And when the snow again does fall,
Does the lily despair?
Or does it know, despite it all
Next spring ’twill ‘gain be fair?
The lily
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?
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
4/22/2021 – truth
A funny thing is truth
When one’s own mind can lie
Oft unseen
Why is it when it rains, the sky
Feels as if it embraces?
Why is it when the sun goes down
We see such heav’nly faces?
Why is it that the beauty lies
In shadows under trees?
Where dappled light and whistling air
Dance light amid the breeze?
For all is neither light nor dark
All exists in between
And life’s true wonder hides amidst
That which is oft unseen
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
A Poem A Day 