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Time teaches us to love, if we would learn.
Hope strewn on fertile ground becomes compassion.
In lushest color naked night appears;
Rainbows are the work of joy and tears.
To love oneself inspires little passion,
Yet many to that stony idol turn.
So do we our joys and sorrows fashion,
In love, or ineluctably in fear:
Xerophytes, content to thirst and burn.
All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
