I once met the fossil of a dead tree,
In deep-set layers of tradition wrapt—
That proof of their prosperity well kept
That was the sole cause of their cause to be—
Of living in the duly past moment,
In vain hopes of unfolding the morrow,
But the fossil was a force duly spent,
Not of a seed potential, prone to grow;
But when it chose to blossom as a seed
To be a tree one distant day full-grown,
A life of no potential— deed indeed,
A rich life all possibilities prone,
Lo, past stored as a seed does one day sprout,
As fossil it gets frost alas in doubt.
_________________________________________________
Sonnets | 18.08.14 |
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem