Some October, when the leaves turn gold, ask
me if I've done enough to deserve this life
I've been given. A pile of sorrows, yes, but joy
enough to unbalance the equation.
When the sky turns blue as the robes of heaven,
ask me if I've made a difference.
The road winds through the copper-colored woods;
no one sees around the bend.
Today, the wind poured out of Canada,
a river in flood, bringing down the brilliant leaves,
broken sticks and twigs, deserted nests.
Go where the current takes you.
Some twilight, when the clouds stream in from the west
like the breath of God, ask me again.
Barbara Crooker
Originally published in Borderlands:
The Texas Poetry Review
2 singing pebbles:
My woods are golden. Took a few pictures last night.
I smile because sometimes we have the same thoughts - yet so far away in distance...
This poem reminds me a little of the one by Rumi, which is too long to post here as a comment, but it talks about our sorrows who come to visit, and then says: "Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond."
And I love the phrase in Crooker's poem here that says: "Go where the current takes you." How could we not, flowing on the breath of God ~ ~ ~
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