The sky sings; the earth whirls
But I am not myself
I am a winged thing
Poised on my window sill,
Dreading to leave
The empty shell of what was
Lying sad and still.
Just now I am an autumn leaf
Borne by the wind to who
knows where?
And as life flows, unheeding -
I am a twig, adrift on crests
Of giant wanes and surging tides -
'I'm just a speck, ' I tell
myself
'And no one knows and
no one cares -'
But then another voice
Within me, whispers gently:
'You are a speck, perhaps -
But One who knows and
One who cares
Has made a little god of you
within your tiny sphere -
For you can live and love
and die
And live again! '
Then finally I found myself,
No longer aimless driftwood
But all atonce a tree
Solid, alive and free
Lourdes Pena Goco
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-being-ill/
