PARKINSON’S
One slow step follows another
Limbs still bound to earth by
The golden cords of love.
At night, my dream self,
Startled awake, I watch
From my window as one star
Tips the dipper,
My strength has gone
To well-water, frozen
In winter, convinced
That spring must arrive
By dawn, but hope has
Blown away like the petals
Of late summer roses,
As I watch that silly moth
Circling the candle flame,
Longing to become Buddha,
I wait for the cure, a guest
That may arrive too late.
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 5:15 AM UTC
PARKINSON’S
One slow step follows another
Limbs still bound to earth by
The golden cords of love.
At night, my dream self,
Startled awake, I watch
From my window as one star
Tips the dipper,
My strength has gone
To well-water, frozen
In winter, convinced
That spring must arrive
By dawn, but hope has
Blown away like the petals
Of late summer roses,
As I watch that silly moth
Circling the candle flame,
Longing to become Buddha,
I wait for the cure, a guest
That may arrive too late.