Let the darkness helplessly wonder
For the hours in the night
Lie open, bare and empty,
Alone it can do little.
One never learns, at least, not at first.
Early morning sun begins to stream in
Relaxes, stretches out, under the spell,
The slow flapping of birds across hills,
The steady winds in the tall trees,
The green leaves come to life again.
The old torn letters remain unread
The hand written words,
Round and legible in blue ink,
Begins to build, to play, and to turn over
In gentle speed like current ripples.
The marks of a lonely mind,
I do not exactly know
What problems it may toss up
Against all the tardy resolutions
Slowly blurs in the building clouds.