Long ago,
I was wounded.
And surrounded by
people wailing and weeping.
Waiting for spring flowers.
But this was just
a moment on earth.
Wrapped in the
birdweed of life.
And poems of returning home.
Like the flight of a
wild duck, I moved on.
Floating down the waters.
To a shining island palace.
And the fruits of your soul.
While you are in this world,
I cannot grow tired.
The one I love, I say.
And I am living still.
A Wandering Poet 