When “Where to go? ”
And “Gone”
Collide
A perennial in remission remains.
Under sod, soot and soil
In wait
Till the embers of winter
Lose warmth and fade.
Until it’s useful,
Or when outsides back in style,
The seeds will sleep
And dream in dirt
Of matches in an oil lamp,
The earliest questions
And the flaws
Of fundamentals in regards to the human spirit
It’s thicker then a Nananian quilt
And stickier then
Popsy’s pipes, when they say
“Find time to bide,
It’s so close to time”
Ben Wannamaker
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/plateaus-on-higher-heights/
