The wind blows
and where it goes
-nobody knows
it just flows away
into the breaking horizon
as the sun rises up
and the brilliant shimmer of day
glitters across the calm water bay.
The birds sing
as the breeze dances on their wing
and maybe this time
the preying jester will fool his king
Into thinking
that on this first day of Spring
nothing will come of the man
who refuses to say sorry
that his guilt will not haunt him
That he will not have to
go out on a limb
for anyone
And when he realizes he is wrong
He will have claimed
“I knew it all along”
Though in his heart
he is deeply shamed
because it is so hard to say sorry
when, afterwords, all he can do
is worry
that sorry will not mean Enough
.
.
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