I
was not sleeping when you woke me from
my
dream. Only pondering the imponderables
of
life, a daisy in the field stretching soft petals
to
catch the morning gold. It seems
you
went about your heedless way,
hardly
noticing the dew on the roses.
Or
the crystalline structure of my heart
not
easily broken. So you say.
Isn’t
there a name for fools who tell
all
the secrets of their souls,
then
throw doubt at each other?
Like
pitching pennies in a wishing well.
Copyright:
1989
S.
Michele LeBoutillier