Words on growing older

 

by Shaaban

 

sarkodie@cats-net.com

 

 

They used to lie around,

like flowers,

waiting for me to

pick and choose

and arrange

prettily in sentences.

 

But now they are

as hard to grasp

as those things . . .

   those things that fly . . .

      they fly around in the garden . . .

         What do you call them?

 

And when I reach for them

they take off

and flutter maddeningly

just out of reach.

 

But sometimes, when

I'm sitting quietly,

one that I've chased

in vain will come

and settle in my mind

and unfold its beautiful meaning

like a butterfly.

 

 ©2005 Shaaban

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