There is a slowness in affairs which ripens them, and a slowness which rots them. Joseph Roux



TO RIPEN, TASTE, AND FEED

For I the poet, have but words,
To harvest from my soul
As from the fertile fields I reap,
The seasons I have known

I've tilled, and planted, seed by deed,
And prayed on knees for rain
Then blight befell my efforts dear....
And made it all in vain

The field is bleak and barren now
As winds now mock my loss
Abandoned by the hoe and plow
No fruitage yield across

For what I set within this earth
Was all that I received
For I the poet....have but words
To ripen, taste......and feed