As spring fades to summer, and summer to fall,
The world goes on turning, indifferent to all,
Not caring for emperors, peasants, or popes,
But forging fresh fortunes for scaling new slopes...
And so go our hopes.
Some stage a distraction, a senseless sideshow,
Insisting on missing its unflagging flow.
Some raise a resistance, a psychical dike,
Opposing by closing their minds all alike...
On motionless strike.
Bold bullhorns keep blustering feeble-brained views
With fists full of fury no proof can defuse,
Old wagons still wedged in the earth’s worn-out grooves,
Yet one thing is true, despite who disapproves...
It moves.
Ed Morris, 2019
This page copyright © 2019 Edward A. Morris. Created February 10, 2019. Last updated February 11, 2019.