Withered Soul

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Withered Soul

Speak to me, withered Soul,
Sagging under the burden of work,
Too excited by the five sensations—

Stop a while,
Lay down that load
Of wit and wonder,
Sip a tea never brewed,
Taste a wafer never baked,
Take up this thread of thought
And converse a while
Here around the dinner table
With angels,

Then walk a mile with me
And let me tell you about Spring;

Listen, withered Soul,
Laboring under the delusion of this world.
You cannot wipe from your eyes
The grime of the city
Nor the dirt of the country.

Come into the closet
Where safety begins in silence.
Seat that sluggard animal
You carry around with you
And begin to tame its wants.

Soul—
Spring comes and Summer follows
As sure as birth and rebirth—
Ease out from one season to the next
Lest you feel that tear and sting of dying.