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THIS IS NOT A POEM…
This is not a poem
about dedication.
No, dedication is itself
the poem whose meter
never jumps the track
and whose rhymes always
pull into Penn Station
right on time,
a poem that looks
beyond the bouquet
in its elegant
vase to the folks
working the soil, dirty hands,
calloused fingers, day in,
day out, planting, harvesting,
joining with others in
work songs drifting
across fields before
night settles in.
Unlike the weather,
fickle, mercurial, capricious,
one morning sun, the next rain,
dedication is a poem
that flows faithfully and clear.
while we sit on the banks
reciting
with pleasure
every line's rhymes,
before conjuring our own
headwaters of truth.
For Sandy on her retirement
December 2016