Stand Still
Shall I follow the setting sun
and know just one,
so beautiful, tis true
in coral hues,
but lost without the morning?
Perhaps I could, at break of dawn,
towards west move on,
through glistening dew
smell coffees brew
while Sandman's dreams alluding.
Or retreat south at North's first blow,
never knowing snow;
the various shapes
of delicate flakes;
feeling not, a warm fire glowing.
I must, instead, stand perfectly still
to see and feel
what each day brings
to reach my dreams;
each season of life in the making.
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