The one power that a man can have is in
the perfection of himself. He changes
with the weather but of this he's unaware.
A churlish man and his teacher are walking
along a road when he is suddenly instructed
to look down a side street. Spring trees in leaf.
I go in front of the mirror and observe
the changes to come in my face. I turn
my chair so I can see out all the windows.
What is right fits the time perfectly. It
is all out of my hands. In this the peace
is supreme. Yet my hands embrace the pot.
In the morning the air is cold and clear
at the river. Then clouds and the confusion
in people. At dusk the sky is clear again.
Copyright 1985 & 2007 by Robert Ronnow.