The sky sings; the earth whirls <br />But I am not myself <br />I am a winged thing <br />Poised on my window sill, <br />Dreading to leave <br />The empty shell of what was <br />Lying sad and still. <br /> <br />Just now I am an autumn leaf <br />Borne by the wind to who <br />knows where? <br />And as life flows, unheeding - <br />I am a twig, adrift on crests <br />Of giant wanes and surging tides - <br />'I'm just a speck, ' I tell <br />myself <br />'And no one knows and <br />no one cares -' <br />But then another voice <br />Within me, whispers gently: <br />'You are a speck, perhaps - <br />But One who knows and <br />One who cares <br />Has made a little god of you <br />within your tiny sphere - <br />For you can live and love <br />and die <br />And live again! ' <br /> <br />Then finally I found myself, <br />No longer aimless driftwood <br />But all atonce a tree <br />Solid, alive and free<br /><br />Lourdes Pena Goco<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-being-ill/
