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Wednesday, September 10, 2008


I'm small;

as the rain that clings
to our faces like an old lover,
or a spider's gossamer
broken on the hedgerow,

I'm small enough
to fit into the palm
of the heart,
and make it grow.

I'm free;

like an unsheltered ripple
on the great font
of the sea's calligraphy,
or a crocus' bloom,

I'm free enough
to count seconds that
rush to their death,
and to my final doom.

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© CC License 2004-18. Unless otherwise stated all poetry, prose and art are the original work of the blog owner.