Irena, won’t you sing for me
The day is almost done
I see the sun’s long, glist’ning rays
Upon kissed altar stones

They bid goodbye to Daylight’s glee
As Dusk crawls in to keep
My world in constant pace despite
The tasks in mounting heaps

Irena, should you lose your song
Don’t weep, sky-speckled friend
For I have one to comfort me
And croon with Love no end

Like yours, her ballad fills my life
With harmony, pure light
My aging pen is a nightingale
In the deadness of the night.

who am I?

I am not a wife.

for if the grave calls

and my love follows

then I shall cease to be.

I am not a mother.

for if the ground breaks open

and swallows both my infants whole

God forbid—

then I shall cease to be.

I am neither poet nor writer

for if the tide of thought, word,

feeling

ebbs,

and the well of inspired speech

dries up

then I shall cease to be.

who I am:

I am but one who follows

Life, Light, Truth.

I am but one who walks

the dusty, worn-out path

of a good and kind

Teacher.

I am a bamboo reed

bending in the wind.

I am a calf

nursing at her mother’s *******.

I am a pencil

drawing lines on a page.

I am a cluster of rhododendrons

nourished by the canopy.

I am a badger

finding shelter in the rocks.

who am I?

I am but one who follows

Life, wherever He leads.