I thought I would post something a bit different this time. Here’s a little poem I wrote more than 25 years ago.
Watch the quiet, stoic streamers–
shining garlands through the trees.
In a moment they might touch you,
dancing softly in the breeze.
In the folly of your blindness
see the current plight of man,
as you bow to worship idols
you have made with your own hands.
Look upon the depth of wisdom
placed within a fleeting glance.
You are foolish to have called them
fruits of chance and circumstance.