He stood to the side of the path
So that I might in safety pass.
I turned my face away
On a beautiful, spring day.
But thanked him with a smile, while
Pondering on what constitutes a safe distance,
And the persistence
Of common courtesy.
And what did he
Think of me
As I turned my face away?
I can not say,
But suspect he understood
As we did pass
Along that tranquil, woodland path.
I saw a great bough
Brought low.
But oh
How the birds sing,
And soon, it will be spring.
A tree branch, bowed
Half blocked the track.
I did not turn back
But ducked under.
There it stands,
Guarding the path.
Bowed by the recent wind.
Nature will have the last laugh,
Whether this tree
Outlasts me,
Or no.
The wind gusts.
Human lusts
Are strong.
But, as I sit in my home,
I remember long
Gone Rome.
And listen to the eternal sing,
Of the gusting wind.
An insect
Brushed against my head.
I showed it respect,
For soon it will be dead
And an insect
Is fragile
As a girl’s smile.
A kiss.
Or the bliss
Of bed.
And the wind blew chill
And will
Do still,
When I am dead.
She said to me
Yesterday, that she
Does not like to see
The rain.
On my way
Through the park yesterday
Slow droplets of rain
Fell from the trees,
And I heard
Birds sing.
How strange it is to me
That she should see
No beauty in these
Rain, and birds, and trees.
Last night the rain
Came,
And the wind
To
Which almost blew
Me off my human feet.
Windblown
I took refuge at home,
From the gale.
Sheep continue to speak
Of progress.
But the wise turn pale
For they know
That the gale
May blow
Humanity off it’s feet.
