In Passing
I felt the cool of a morning breeze
As it rustled through the poplar leaves.
It may have been urging “come with me”
As it swayed the flowers around my knees.
I tried to discern but could not see
Nor mark its transient destiny,
And if to follow I might have yearned,
But its passing left no void in me.
To exotic affairs I might have turned
Or intrigues of state I might have spurned,
But would I be wiser for all I had learned
Once having departed and then returned?
Copyright © Bruce Schuhart | Year Posted 2012
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