When shall patience bear fruit to become the harvest of slow regret?Shall it be gathered one morning on the dew around a flower calyx?
Or fall down to earth and break upon the roots of wisdom full ripe
If foresight is a gift then it long abandoned me for much purer pastures
Under a night April sky lit by a crescent moon is where sweetness lingers
And I wander now in the nightfall of my memory harvesting the starlight
For if there is wonder still in the world it shuns both daylight and company