Song of Myself
Flexing, the leaves, like iron
Tortured by constant upheaval
Grasping at the edge with
Fading will and wanting strength
Stubbornness, a pawing bull
In the brunt of swirling
Winds brought from beyond
The future horizon shining
In expanding glory
Watching as the leaves
Remain like iron.
Purely by desire, they remain
Like a bubbling river pressured
Above its banks without letting go.
No law contains unruliness as
The leaves, flexing, like iron,
Remain.
Copyright © Donna Goodale | Year Posted 2007
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