as my mood improves
so my verse decays
perhaps the time is now here
to broaden the spectrum
write on the world
instead of my own small concerns
. . .
how many ways does the sun shine
one drop of water or snow
on crystalline veins of green winter leaves
the simple needs of plants
the object of my envy
pushing deep into the firmament
to bring forth sustenance
taking in ethereal power from above
. . .
Lost in Mist 