Used to hate to be a little spec of dustInto the infinite desertThousands of sandsA little worm inside a giant jar of maggotsYet the hourglass has turnedMinds have been openedMay be small, but all is infinite in importanceCaterpillar under a giant treeLittle boy on a giants shoulderTrillions of avian songsFrom the trees of infinityBillions of livesMillions of story threadsBranching, always crossingParallel yet never touchingAn acorn that might grow into a giant oak
Sometimes in the Mirror| see a Young BoySmooth Skin aside from Ugly ZitsSometimes in The Reflection| see a Forty Year Old MaleBags Under Eyes, Big Chin and NoseUnshaven NeckThe Fat Figure has a BellyAnd Masculine MusclesDo We see what We Love to See?Do We see what We Hate to See?Slowly in the MirrorA Woman is Growing out of My Male FaceSlowly my Strong Rigid Male CocoonShows its CracksA Elegant Buttergirl, A Femaleflyer
One thing doneTwo things to doWant to draw moreBut need to express the dayWant to workBut need to clean the roomTime and Time againWhen moving forwardI move backwardsWhere am IWhere do I goWhat have I forgottenWhat should I learnTime and Time againOne thing doneTwo things to do
Consulting summer's clock,But half the hours remain.I ascertain it with a shock --I shall not look again.The second half of joyIs shorter than the first.The truth I do not dare to knowI muffle with a jest.
The frog half fearful jumps across the path,And little mouse that leaves its hole at eveNimbles with timid dread beneath the swath;My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive,Till past,--and then the cricket sings more strong,And grasshoppers in merry moods still wearThe short night weary with their fretting song.Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare,Cheat of his chosen bed, and from the bankThe yellowhammer flutters in short fearsFrom off its nest hid in the grasses rank,And drops again when no more noise it hears.Thus nature's human link and endless thrall,Proud man, still seems the enemy of all.
The Winters are so short --I'm hardly justifiedIn sending all the Birds away --And moving into Pod --Myself -- for scarcely settled --The Phoebes have begun --And then -- it's time to strike my Tent --And open House -- again --It's mostly, interruptions --My Summer -- is despoiled --Because there was a Winter -- once --And al the Cattle -- starved --And so there was a Deluge --And swept the World away --But Ararat's a Legend -- now --And no one credits Noah --