Should it be a tree,
drawing
Moist life from a
mind’s
Tilth of humus and
sediment?
Or like a beast,
vividly
Swerving and
glancing, fleetingly
Glimpsed in the
dappled forest?
Or crisp, and
uniform,
Each facet aureate,
And polished to
conform?
Choose for yourself.
I
Will not complain.
Yet you
Can tell what I root
for.
Just one of my considerations, not necessarily Christian, on poems and poetry.
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