A Wonder

A Wonder


With excess time on my hands to ponder--
       The reason I write I wonder;
I'd rather other things to do
       Than to put pen to colorless paper;
To trap a winged bird perhaps
       And after admiring let it fly free,
Or to heal my soul beneath the shade of
nature's herbs-
       The Oak and The Olive tree.
How often i bid myself stop
        "Write one more then never more.
Or one day your sanity will pop
         And you'll be lost for evermore !"
So why, oh why do i still write
        Beyond the boundaries of my thought
Above the high secernous height
        Of my emotions yet unsought,
I lament and yet i still write
        By daylight or at midnight
Openly or hidden out of sight,
        As such I am bound to always wonder
If i'll write and write for ever