Ebb and Flow
In the middle of a quiet, Before the tiger’s roar;
At the level of the dawn, Before the wave returns to shore,
I chose one petal from, a many petaled flower
Stared into its nature for, What seemed to be an hour
Then let it fall and walked away,To let the earth devour
Gifted to the root, the stalk, the stem, the bud
It may become as I, a shoot grown from the mud.
One day with age of years, I’ll come again
To choose the petal I have known, To hold in hand as then,
Then move myself once more to find my home.
And as I think upon the petal, It remains with me
Where it has always been this while, for those who love to see;
Leaving and returning, Matching movements, of my own.
The time we give to each, Is but a loan.
The ebb and flow of all our understandings.
I know the petal, As the petal so knows me.
More than chance encounter this, Allowing us to see
The beauty of all others is carried in ourselves.
Always,
There is the beauty of the other in ourselves.
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2020
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