Oh, this fruitful, joyless afternoon, alone
In a green field with the melodic drone
Of vehicles driving; a singsong voice; guitar strings;
Bird chatter; a grey sky; and thoughts of things.
To be away here, wandering emptily,
A home and a closed face left – it is free;
For the play of sadness and strife is dancing,
Even braced by cold wind or in silence’s ring.
Play, heart, play! Know this rushing wind.
Forget where the happiest parts have thinned
Over time and humbled you. Direct your eyes
To what is real: to what is paradise.
Yet, softly she treads freedom’s distance,
Its hard cultivation – afraid, gaze askance
With longing for all that is companionship,
Between herself and love; just on nature’s tip.
Creatures’ winged caresses fill the sky above;
sweet -natured, they sing purely for love.
The leaves pulsate gently, with green joy they breathe.
So why not the same, for this heart underneath?