But Reaching

Poetry

Public Domain

Frost melting in the pale evening sun,

A sparrow singing songs of dark;

One man striving for the truth,

Knowing there is only rue

But reaching.

Reaching for the thing unknown,

That trembling wish he had forlorn.

Walking through the tall thin grass

Approaching it he touches fast.

He reaches out with shaking hand

And grasps what he had wanted last.

He holds it and the sparrow’s song

Disappearing like the melting frost.

His mind at peace, his body — war.

And darkness.