Like a leaf
Floating gently to the ground
In the wind.
What if
The wind becomes a whirlwind
And the leaf disappears
Amidst all the debris.
Is the poetry gone?
Or is the only hope
For man on earth
To see the poetry in every wind?
Perhaps this asks too much:
“Presume not God to scan,
The proper study of mankind is man.”
And yet the wind lifts us
Closer to the light
Are we blinded or do we see?
by James E. Prevor