There’s me, hanging off the tree.
Out on a limb again.
I can’t be a coward – however hard I try.
Loving where I will,
less skill than importunity,
leaping off the cliff – as if both of us might fly.
The sweetest “no” I ever heard,
I swear that I too am afraid,
unable to be a liar – fired with a passion.
For all my eccentricities,
I’m really quite old fashioned.
But fit a scold upon my tongue – ration
my foolishness. Wrong this
time, this place. I have to face
that this is God’s will – not mine.
(c) Liz Willows 2000
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment