If I could draw-- The country lies A beacon to my pointed pen, Enticing me to sketch again, Or paint the colored twilight skies. If I could play-- I’d harmonize The babbling brooks in mossy glen Or sing the whispered words of men Or wordless songs in misty eyes. I wish that God had given to me Expression that real artists show ... The power to understand and see, Uplifted by the will to know. Instead, I write my paltry stint, Which usually isn’t fit to print. RAIN Here’s the pool, close to the lake Where the humming rainbow flies Seek their prey with myriad eyes, Where the maple, touched with red, Bends across the dusty pool, Bathing in its welcome cool, Sunspots break the veil of leaves Like diluted drops of gold, Cloud the pool with dust-like mold. Now the sunspots fade away. Buzzing flies hum louder still, Tense the air hangs damp and chill, And the maple’s glittering leaves Turn their silver-frosted backs To the wind. A pine-tree cracks. On its breast the first rain falls. Drops like pebbles sharply pelt, Widen to a ring, and melt. GROWING PAINS When I was a rosy, wide-eyed child And the world was new to me I tried to explore it with searching eyes That knew no secrecy. And I came one day, in my wanderings, On a curtain of green and gold With the deepest colors reflected in Each mysterious fold. And I tried to break through it, and tried to go ’round To pluck at the colors that shone, But as I reached toward it, it vanished away. And I cried in the forest, alone. Seven years passed, e’er I saw it again, All proud in my new-found teens ... But I passed by the gate with a haughty glance, And I scoffed at its beckoning greens. Seven years more, and I find it again, In my own private fairy wood. Its shimmering colors, and sun-flecked hues Call me, as naught else could. The gates are translucent. There, tinted with rose, Is the sapphire blue of a cloudless day ... And I know there are reaped the harvests of love, And I know there the children of happiness play. But I know that for me the gate is shut ... And I feel that I trespass on hallowed ground, So I fix my eyes on the stones below, And I follow the lone path, homeward bound. ADOLESCENCE Childlike still, we gaze at fleeting fairy thoughts, Childlike still, we cast pale shadows in the air-- Civilized imaginations--weakling sparks That we’ve folded fast in words--and buried there. Look: A school of doves on silver-frosted wings Hold the sunshine for a moment as they fly, Toss a vagrant shaft of sunbeams in the air As they float across a shining turquoise sky.