I <br />I follow in the footsteps <br />of old poets of the past. <br /> As geese fly south in autumn. <br /> Instinct is my only guide. <br /> My attempts to emulate, <br /> may not bear such worthy fruit. <br />I can only do my best <br /> <br />II <br />The trees discard all their leaves <br /> and face winter nakedly. <br />I ask myself why this should be <br />but I receive no reply. <br />Winter winds pass freely through <br /> the leafless twigs and branches. <br />Dead leaves return to the earth. <br /> <br />III <br />The trees stand as sentinels <br /> coated with white bitter frost <br />Bowing in submission <br /> to the power of the wind. <br />Better to bend than to break, <br />the trees know instinctively <br /> the wind dies as spring returns. <br /> <br />IV <br /> <br />Only when the time is right <br />the geese will return once more. <br />The trees will put forth new leaves, <br />flowers spring up underfoot <br />The spring sunshine will inspire <br />Poets to take up their brush <br /> and ink: To write poetry. <br /> <br />21-Oct-07<br /><br />ivor or ivor.e hogg<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/meditations-after-li-po-for-m-lady-helen/
