O world I cannot hold thee close enough.
Someone already wrote this line and felt
The passion implied in his sweep of words.
As we move gracefully through later decades,
Each added candle adds to the mounting total,
As the fire grows higher and brighter.
We stand by to watch the light spread ever wider
As passion bends us to stretch our forgiveness
Beyond the narrow scope of yesterday.
Should we be both judge and executioner,
When our own fraility promises so little?
Will we embrace the light, each burning candle?
Did the early poet cherish his exhubriant joy
Of the world that winsome day? Perhaps he became
All elders on the cusp of ever wiser understanding.
A word borrower I have become, spread so thin
I could become invisible even to myself. Yet joy
In words writ well lingers on in today’s sunshine.