What We Seek
Gone are the hours of indecision
and here are the places called for rehabilitation.
Here is the land seeking comfort,
here are the trees seeking sun,
here are the animals seeking good fortune.
The morning hour reveals the naked nature of things,
coloring them bright. Fresh is the garden seeking spring.
All we have is to be seeking it, all we have is to be searching for it,
all we have is to be wandering in search of paradise.
It will never be found by such forlorn a seeker,
but please, may we have spring at least?
May we have a little taste of our longings
to tide us over till we die?
May we have a little hope to hold before we grieve?
May we have a little look into the world beyond?
Have a little bite, but once bitten, we're wanting more,
till it drives us down into the barren dirt we trod.
Author's Note:
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