How is it the goose lifts from the pond,
Or the child to walk upon two feet,
Or the bird first to take to wing?
No one knows.
How is it if that we trust these wings,
These bones and feathers,
To rise from bed, to open eyes,
To know the sun will rise,
No one knows.
How do we trust this world of ours
To keep its flowers or bring its green
Spring coming after every winter
Without fail?
No one knows.
How is it I met you, A book of words,
Sent to no one, for no reason,
A bottle sailing with secret message
Only to land on your shore,
No one knows.
Faith is not a word a goose would use,
But feels it as well,
To know that bones will hold wings together
For thousands of miles of flight,
To come and go, from where,
No one knows.
How can you doubt the years ahead,
When the world has gone through so much
Just to bring us together,
Why wasted those secret energies,
Even if it should all end tomorrow,
Why spend the spirits on such foolish thought,
If fate does not think us so trivial,
No one knows.
But when I life my wings to fly,
Or arms to hold you,
I know it is forever, it is for the
Time beyond winer, as well as
Before, that time in the endless series
Of times at which we continually meet,
This life, the next life and the life after that
No one knows.
No comments:
Post a Comment