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A Flower Unfolding
I am a flower unfolding
to its decadent ending
A bird in flight
Who has lost his way home
A rider on the storm
forever calling
The crisp love of
a child's innocent
hug
I am the man who was
caught shouting
in the middle of the street
at the moon one night
The lover who died
the death of a thousand cuts
The clown running
with his trousers falling
the crying boy
at his mother's distress
wondering why the heart
goes through so many
prosaic maulings
Here i am unfolding
this morning on this quiet
chair
inside this winter morning
dormant and ready
and the spring is rising
already and calling
over the meaningful
winter bird song
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Too much intellectual pride and not enough intellectual beauty
To Thine own Self be True
The Frost performs its secret ministry,Unhelped by any wind. Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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