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The world is as restless as the sea;
…I stand, while it is swayed.
The winds and the clouds go whistling by –
…A briskly marched parade.
Wind fondles the leaves in ev’ry tree;
…It rustles grass like hair;
It touches me and I am not moved;
…I’ve not gone anywhere.
The chimes too, are tickled by the wind
…And move to get away.
But wind works them like the ivories
…That men sit down to play.
The wind moves by, caressing the grass,
…And makes green churning waves
That ripple across the lea as the wind
…Says goodbye to its slaves.
It is a most restless world today;
…Men’s feet cannot be still.
And the leaves and grass and swaying limbs
…All dance the same quadrille.
The smallest of creatures, e’en the ants
…Who run a settled route –
A searching for food and home again –
…Know what they’re all about.
But men on an artery don’t know;
…They haul their lives behind.
They cross in their moves from east to west
…To find what fate’s designed.
Feet restless and minds quite restless, too
…Leave city, job, and mate
For something that has more zest and spice,
…More tasty on life’s plate.
If there’s a solution, most reject
…As though a bitter taste.
And temporary won’t satisfy
…So all becomes a waste.
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photo by Adrian van Leen at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mMCEE8c/sepia+palm+tree+silhouette
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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.
The Bard on the Hill 