Stock Taking
So busy of late
I stopped to count its gain
The law of state
Or great that shall remain
The endless rounds
Of trifles that leash us
In narrow bounds
Of trite recurring dust
The child unseen,
The wounded overlooked
The wasted green
Or dust covered old book
A surf roars still
Within my heart for love
And sunsets spill
Old meanings from above
I walked the land
Again to feel and write
The fleeting sand
The glow of burnished night
Something better
When tedium is done
Broken fetter
Freedom from the sun
Too busy is sad
The joys in myth denied
Fade now the fad
I write the withered tide.
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