Desiderata... a-id-deserta


Across the field beyond the hedge,
in a sometime small oak-dotted copse..
I lay my burden down.

What took me up, and on, to this point now,
I do not know.
Can only echo life that seems to flow.

Have no foreknowledge, surety of strength of reason,
To happily sow seed, or fruitless, deathwards grow.
Without this loving purpose.

I raise my stamens.
Treason hammers home.

I puzzle over status.
Year ends with clenching fist, punched aged tome.

I'm not your fault sis'.
You are yet the love I seek to bear...
But of the tree that's buried, growing to the fast-diminished
of life,.. my love,.. my burden...,
The fire of hope is burgeoning,. and only fit: to share..!