Friday, March 30, 2012


And so a new question arises,
To replace whatever it was
That I wondered a few moments ago.
Already that’s forgotten,
Although it may return to mind
Some time from now
In a dream, or in a daydream.

For now I’ll ponder on this new thought.
But how can I be sure
Of it’s being fresh, being new?
This morning I passed three snowdrops
In my garden that have flowered
Every year, even when the grass
Was left to grow around them.

Every year they brighten up the late winter mornings,
From the same beginnings,
Even in the weeds.
Every year they are fresh and new,
As if forgotten then remembered with delight.
Is this new thought new like the flowers,
Have I just recalled it from the past?

And now where is it gone?
I’ve lost it again, in the darkness
And the lights of TV screens
And the machines that entertain.
And so another new question arises,
A choice on which to meditate:
Will I follow my lost thought, or use its loss now to create?

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