Beside the Point
The sky has never won a prize.
The clouds have no careers.
The rainbow doesn't say my work,
thank goodness.
The rock in the creek's not so productive.
The mud on the bank's not too pragmatic.
There's nothing useful in the noise
the wind makes in the leaves.
Buck up now, my fellow superfluity,
and let's both be of that worthless ilk,
self-indulgent as shooting stars,
self-absorbed as sunsets.
Who cares if we're inconsequential?
At least we can revel, two good-for-nothings,
in our irrelevance; at least come and make
no difference with me.
1 comment:
This is one of my most favorite poems ever!
My mom wrote of this poem:
I think it's worthy to note that, just as nature's gifts bless our lives just by being themselves, we humans can just be ourselves and our God-given gifts will naturally bless the lives of everyone around us.
Post a Comment