A Little Big Song of the Earth
What comes, comes.
An upstart park alongside a sidewalk
witnesses up-shoots of the spring,
an urbanscape where a cluster, itself,
of daffodils in yellow constitutes awe.
In the shuffle to find a purpose,
as the sun spills onto a clear pond,
slapping us awake
to confront
or present
or simply be,
that bright yoke flashes in the moment,
the madly artificial gone.
No business of ours anyway
how business goes
when the body is going in its turn
in tune with its life's own hum.
Trulyfool
Posted over on his site Light At The End of the Tether
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