A MISFORTUNE OF CLOUDS

Every star journeys, and on the way, decides
Which way to take. Even the sun must decide
How high to fall, which horizon to scrape,
When to bloom and when to vanish, depending
On the season, the day, the hour,
And whether it will smile or be hidden in a company
Of clouds, or appear through them, and with exactly
How many rays. And be warm or cool, it all depends.
Such a king is pawn to so much variance,
Almost as much as worms are, though its power
And purpose are self-evidently true.
No star makes a route that arrows forever. Every trip
Has choice except the one creation takes.

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1 Comment

  1. Scanger said,

    November 6, 2010 at 2:26 pm


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