When
Mar 09, 2008 in Poetry
When does a mystery yield its secrets?
Not on my clock,
not on my time,
when I demand it do so.
Pushing, and pulling,
and trying to force its lock.
When will a shadow find its way to sunlight?
Not when I deem it is far past sunrise,
not when I expect it is time for it to do so.
When will a seed planted finally bloom into full flower?
Not by predictions of experts,
not by forecasts of weather.
but when and only when the seasons shift,
boding a full and imminent change.
