Thursday, September 23, 2010


The city lay below me in
   a curl of waterfalls,
with beauty near utopian
   a-spilling o'er its walls.
The splendor of this happy scene
   lit fireflies 'fore my eyes
and set my thoughts to questing how
   it had become this prize.

What were the land and city like
   in their presplendent days?
Before the polish of the years
   had captured sunshine's rays
what work and sweat and tears were sown
   to cultivate this mood?
What weeds were pulled, what furrows plowed,
   which unsprung seeds exhumed?

I could imagine but in part,
   and so I turned away
to travel back instead of on,
   retrace my steps that day.
I'd follow through the fallow fields
   to nascent sprouting shoots.
I'd find out how to grow such trees
   that yield such glorious fruits.
I'd tend the roots and learn to keep
   them strong through storm and sun;
I'd tend the flocks, protect from wolves,
   and learn how wool is spun.
Perhaps someday I'd know enough
   to build a place as blest,
where gates resplendent opened wide
   for travelers to rest.
My paradise appeared that day,
   premade to enter in,
but heav'n for me is lost until
   remade and found again.

May 20, 2010

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