The Myth of Self-Cultivation

Upward into life, they rush –

Though gravity bids them, “Stay!” –

Channeled this and that away,

To feed an undying tree

With dim dreams of Liberty,

‘Til limb, leaf, and blossom blush.

Their ripening fates now bend

The branches that they adorn.

The nutriments that they’ve borne –

Some gathered, some there at birth –

Conspiring, drop them to earth,

Where all meet a common end

As seeds of uncommon fruit.

No Fount of Wisdom or Youth

Nor unerring Sun of Truth

Nor unending Wind of Change

Can prophesy or arrange

Which of these seeds will take root.

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About Buck O'Roon

Buck O'Roon [buhk oh-roon] –noun 1. a southerner of skeptical stripe, recognizable by his deeply furrowed brow and increasing lack of patience for institutionalized horse manure 2. curmudgeon-in-training
This entry was posted in Observations while waiting for a non-existent bus and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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