Saturday, March 17, 2012

The Courtship of the Philosopher

I can no more mix with you
than stone can mix with air.
Like stone I am, and feel so low
and hard and strong and rare.

Were you with arms to lift me up
my nature would show true.
I was born to scorn the sky
and seek out earthy truth.

Were I made of softer stuff
I too would dance days past,
drifting each from place to place
each moment like the last.

But I find my joys in heavy things -
filling soul at wisdom's feast.
Come here! Feel your weight as well with me
substance, knowledge, lasting peace!

But rock leaves no mark on wind
and soon you fly away.
Chance meet, chance part, and parting goes
each back to natures' place.

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