There are constants
In life like
The sun and
Moon the seasons
Migration and then
There’s us we
Are simply not
We are lucky
Both in life
And love live
Your best life
And love as
Often as you
Can for in
This world we
Are temporary while
The rest is
Magnificently grandly eternal
Night time dreams
Haunt me with
Mystery like long
Overdue expected letters
Their news past
They ring nothing
But sad memory
And confusion like
Sediment that settles
Back to riverbeds
After fly fishermen
Clumsily stir up
Nightmares are selfish
Bedfellows robbing rather
Than bringing rest
Spring has once
Again returned here
Trees are popping
April buds like
Crackers at Christmas
And Daffodils Tulips
And early Daisies
Dance in yards
Like robed choir
Singers at Baptist
Sunday church service
Irises and Peonies
Begin to yawn
With short stalks
Of leafy green
Like barren flagpoles
Saul is bashfully
Warm like the
Blushing cheeks of
Teenagers at their
First mixed dance
This is today
Here in Charlotte
I sometimes feel
Like a prairie
Flower in the
Hands of a
Forlorn lover plucking
My petals in
Pursuit of love
As though my
Own beauty is
Forgotten in lieu
Of theirs does
He not see
Me my prettiness
Instead I’m simply
A thing found
Faraway upon which
To bemoan and
After used far
Uglier than when
This first began
They say that
Classical music resonates
Within our bodies
It’s melody is
Tuned to ours
Just like love
It’s harmony or
Thunderous crescendos and
Rests its syncopation
And heartbeats drum
Within each of
Us listen to
The simple song
Of love for
It too resonates
Deep with us
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 