Stormy World

I see how my wishes were only weeds

Though I lived near those dark old trees.

I woke and worked upon awakenings

Still I kept choosing the earth's unhonored things.

I don't know how to speak.

I lift my eyes to the edge of a mowing field

And survey the claim of what must go wild.

The measuring turns into a blind critique.

My brother tells me it's a stormy world.

I am young and tell him right back

The weather will never bother me.

In time I regret my rude art with the human tool,

The way my tongue was rough and inexact,

A thistle struggling with headstrong leaves.

I see how my wishes were only weeds

Though I lived close to those old dark trees.

I worked and woke upon awakenings.

Still I kept surging with the earth's unhonored things.