Waiting To Fly
From his perch in the aspen tree
A young goldfinch sings
an ancient melody,
‘searching for wings
to help me fly
through the afternoon sky.
Eyes contemplate wisps of cloud
floating by.’
Mind clings and grasps.
Rainy Mountain
blocks my path.
Heart has her own task,
food comes first.
Then thoughts of future
or past.
I seek guidance,
but wait with impatience
For the bluebell to blossom.
What is this flower’s wisdom?
Says Master Hsu,
‘Waiting has it’s virtue.’
Set loose from its cage,
The wind blows open a new page.
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