On a late March day
The spring hides away.
The sun may come
Interspersed with cold rain.
Perhaps I should go
In search of a rainbow
For I am told
That rainbows lead to gold.
I doubt tis so
But a rainbow
In a poor poet’s heart
Is surely art
And worth more than gold.
The rain does come and go,
Interspersed by the sun’s cheerful light.
I think there might
Be a rainbow
And, at it’s end
A pot of gold,
For the bold
Such as you and I, to find, my friend!
In any event, let us pretend.
(Note: I am not sure about the last line. However it can stand for now).
This morning my guide dog Trigger and I got soaked. Thor swung his mighty hammer and hailstones bounced off us. Nature, as is often her wont has exhibited her sense of humour, hailstones have been replaced by Apollo’s bright rays. Possessing only limited vision I don’t know whether a beautiful rainbow now brightens the sky tempting me to follow to it’s end and obtain the pot of gold which, lies buried in a wood where birds sing and the winter sun slants down through the branches casting shadows of light and shade on the forest floor. Shall I follow the rainbow, undertake the quest without end for rainbows have no beginning and no ending. Like our dreams they call us ever onwards to explore the mystery which is life.
K Morris - Poet 