by Robert Frost
I often see flowers from a passing car
That are gone before I can tell what they are.
I want to get out of the train and go back
To see what they were beside the track.
I name all the flowers I am sure they weren't;
Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt--
Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth--
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.
Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on earth will ever find?
Heaven gives it glimpses only to those
Not in position to look too close.
Nate Note
Truly there are the sublime moments where we catch the fleeting glimpse in the motion of life. But how often are those moments passing because of our hustle, our decisions, our cynicism, and our self denial? How often is heaven, love, happiness within our view and we pass by. . .?
No comments:
Post a Comment