The Labrador
If I wasn't there,
the rain swollen clouds
would have still dumped
their dark weight over the bay
and through a gaping tear,
let down a curtain of sunlight
to start the day.
And if I wasn't there,
the old, arthritic labrador
would have still waddled
along the street
with its bent but steady gait,
undistracted, self absorbed
and fixed in its own stare
that allowed no deviation
from years of devoted plod.
The morning had no need
for me, what happened
would have happened anyway.
There's an annoying sadness
in knowing the earth
doesn't seem to care
if things pass unnoticed.
Sunsets and waterfalls
carry no favor.
To it, the achingly beautiful
and the catastrophic can
happily go unreported.
And yet I still ask -
what's the point -
and entertain the notion
that the universe has this
innate and unfathomable need
for a witness
to take in Creations
unfolding riddle
and make it fit together.
I could be wrong,
but for each of us,
the privilege of being here
on this gifted earth,
to understand, care for
and tell its story in song
fulfills a purpose,
if only to this end -
or something more.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
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