These shadows of ideas and shreds of rhyme
Occur to me, make no sense whatsoever:
I gratefully acknowledge they are mine
And see if I can make them fit together,
It’s surely going to be an awful hour
When I realize that “someday” will be “never” –
But while I live, I try to find the power
To keep my “what’s” from turning to “whatever’s”.
I will be parted from this gorgeous brood:
Color; Music; Perfume; Sweetness; Rest.
Beyond them, I will contemplate The Good -
Eternally. I never will finesse
From shadows and from shreds a finer poem
Than that which I will learn when I come home.