Have you always felt this way?
Have you always felt the sway of the ages,
the drifting and drafting of loose-leaf pages,
in limbs ever-creaking from far-flung breeze?
Have you always stood firm as the trees?
And was it for trust you bared root, or treason?
Where broken road staggered my praise of the season,
the colors and forms, you smiled at my apt expense.
One smile could disarm my defense.
And how is it one so unyielding in storm
could bend to a whisper so gentle and warm
when the children can’t help but inquire?
In perspective, is nothing so dire?
And is it for love you bear fruit, or bargain?
To one who was raised in the Trade, with its jargon,
sincerity seldom is looked-for.