Will I find you here Mary?
I have stood by for long now, and you are still not here >
The lake is cold by mist and frost
The wild geese have arrived here
Of course.
As I tried in vain
To repair my old motorcycle
But gosh! Lest had I forgot
That my pet, Lucy
Had eaten the guide to
My salvation;
It had tasted upon 'Zen
And The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance'!
That I carried in my pannier
As I sit there,
Staring at the solemn solace,
In solicit solitude –
I find that you were right,
That I don’t have to walk on my knees
For a hundred miles through desert;
Repenting,
But all I have to do is, let my heart
Linger amongst the crimson red
Flowers and butterflies and
To appreciate my ineptness.
I am thirsty of imagination!
And yet I wait for your arrival –
You have to keep your words,
For I wait to tell you
All my despairs – and to listen
To all of yours,
Meanwhile the sun scrapes a
Shy blossom in the sky
And the clear pebbles of rain,
Bathe the long stretch of landscapes
Along the prairies and the deep trees!
The wild geese now have started
Their ebb and flow,
And I still feel alone –
Whoever I may be,
The first cries, now of the geese
Call out to me to say,
That you are close by
And I, a pawn in the
Family of things!
Oct 30, 2020
Oct 30, 2020 at 12:28 AM UTC
Will I find you here Mary?
I have stood by for long now, and you are still not here >
The lake is cold by mist and frost
The wild geese have arrived here
Of course.
As I tried in vain
To repair my old motorcycle
But gosh! Lest had I forgot
That my pet, Lucy
Had eaten the guide to
My salvation;
It had tasted upon 'Zen
And The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance'!
That I carried in my pannier
As I sit there,
Staring at the solemn solace,
In solicit solitude –
I find that you were right,
That I don’t have to walk on my knees
For a hundred miles through desert;
Repenting,
But all I have to do is, let my heart
Linger amongst the crimson red
Flowers and butterflies and
To appreciate my ineptness.
I am thirsty of imagination!
And yet I wait for your arrival –
You have to keep your words,
For I wait to tell you
All my despairs – and to listen
To all of yours,
Meanwhile the sun scrapes a
Shy blossom in the sky
And the clear pebbles of rain,
Bathe the long stretch of landscapes
Along the prairies and the deep trees!
The wild geese now have started
Their ebb and flow,
And I still feel alone –
Whoever I may be,
The first cries, now of the geese
Call out to me to say,
That you are close by
And I, a pawn in the
Family of things!
(In memory of Mary Oliver)
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