[This one is a new and (I think) improved version of an older poem,
which I originally posted on January 13, 2015.]

“Allow me. . . ”:
Something someone
says to you,

in kindness,
and in offer of a service
of real value. . .
simple, free. . .

So, when you plead it
whispering to yourself
“Please, allow me. . .”

think well
about your heart’s true needs–

not just how
to relieve you of
your darn stubborn, old unease,
which wants to break
the gripping shackles
from which you sense
a built-up urgency,
to be, thus, immediately
ever and completely freed.

All the space
deep down in you
and each and every way which ’round
grow happy as the ground in spring
when it with green life
swift and tall
begins to wake and swell. .

And then,
at last,
can you well chance
to strike a better stride,
which wends its way
toward a deep and wide and lasting
happiness and satisfaction,
and as ne’er-before-felt health.

This entry was posted in Revision announcements, Seasons, Spring and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s