Wave after wave, a playful gale flurries,
To the outstretched palm of Mother Nature,
Each tamed to a steady caress,
As she tends, lovingly nurtures,
Her arboretums underwater,
Where blooms and seaweed sway, unbothered.
An albatross aloft, above,
Not biting on wind’s game of riddles,
Indifferent to which way comes gust,
Unfazed, steadfast, like sky-held buoy.
Then blows my way, at last,
Someone to toy - I’m not as rigid,
And flutters my lips to swear out dust.
I fall for it so easily. Oh boy.
Interpretation and perspective can paint the same scenery in vastly different colors. In seeking underlying intent, we may catch a hint of it—even if none exists. The balance between intuitive insight and evoking suspicions of our own making is delicate. Understanding this is perhaps all we can ask of ourselves: observe, learn, and be mindful not to tip the scale too far.
