When did it begin, I wonder The life breathed into dust? And when did time erode the truth And discipline my trust? I fought for truth in mold and mire I laid assumptions out, begun And planted knowledge in the dust In soil and rain and sun. But here'
The heart is much too full And the spirit up and down. There's peace and joy in hugs And fear and tears unbound By any sign of friendship For change is coming fast. The different, heralded by joy Is mocking all the past. The ship of years is
The words spring forth in meter bold and bright Required of a sonnet. And the rhyme Is alternating couplets, formed just right To take the reader forth in measured time. Love is the common topic of this feat Of literary greatness. Shakespeare's choice. But other times the weather
The clouds hated me for drifting. And I in righteousness will see The face clouds lose track of As they dissipate. I see The light beyond the heavens Further than the room I'm in And further than the ceiling And much taller than my sin. The trees hated
Having thus drawn the breath Of inspiration by Each sweet muse in her turn And wrung the mountain dry I turn to some other Source of words which, flowing From the harp of David May bring meter, knowing That inspiration comes From mountains, rivers, light. The strength of a poet