HEY THERE BUD by Bob Paris ©9-15-2015

Shall glory be cut along this wind

That is but unquenched inside a thirst

For the eye that seizes a glimpse

Of what not the beating heart might see

On a mirror set dark and marching to

A bagpipe and snare-drum tune wailing

Toward what or where or how or when

Might draw a billow of pure undying light

And song and mirth and melancholy smiles

On that branch that was but yesterday

A bud so overfilled by promise

Bucked up upon this wind

HEY THERE BUD by Bob Paris ©9-15-2015

Photo ©Bob Paris 1996 all rights reserved