The Faraway Tree
Friday, March 24, 2006
Friday, March 03, 2006
Why unto When
You may ask “why,” my new found friend,
puzzled by the scars and disheveled hair,
broken nails and sure sleepless eyes.
Better to ask “when,” peaceful soul;
for the Path I dance is circled,
and has no sure entrancing end --
and how else will I be stoned
if I do not wander by choice
into the pit of angry fear?
Anyone can stroll down the garden path
of gifted flowers and perfumed stars,
with crystal sand and singing mists.
‘tis easy to amble aimless
through a friendly sunlit forest
of waving fronds and breathless dew;
and this may be your rightly bond,
and as someone has to do it,
no reason why it can’t be you.
Yet the universe must balance
and call upon a debt or two
to keep the candle burning bright.
So I am called to stumble here,
to scrape the dust from off the tears,
because I can – and nothing more.
From yours and when and forgotten
you cannot understand nor should,
But I do not regret this dream;
For from way down here in silence
I can see everything and more --
but hush now -- the hail is falling.