WINDS OF TIME

Howl and whistle! You shifting winds!

Complete your wrath, that the sun may shine.
Then cease - Oh, park your fury by the rising vine.

I could sing --,

But, of what would my joy cry?
An outpour of the soul - for what? - for why?

I could preach --,

But, of what value should man now hear?
Should it be of gladness, or that of dread and fear?

I could dance --,

But, to what tune should my body sway?
Should it twist to gaiety, or to malaise of the day?

I could laugh --,

But, the reason I could question why?
Do my vocals tell of cheer, or suppress my soul from cry?

I could talk --,

But, of what merit would my hollow words say?
Each in his own passage; Each in his own way.

All will taste the flavor - of his own wine.

When the winds park - by the rising vine.

 

Barnum Taylor © 1996