04-21-2016, 09:18 PM 
	
	
	
		L'Etoile
To the fox, the sour grapes
became some other fruit, unworthy
of the true self -- yet enough,
perhaps, to quiet
the grumbling child, like the darkness
that is the lantern, once compared
to the distant star -- yet enough
perhaps, to allow
the shipbuilder's work, like the hunger
that is the rabbit, once consumed
by the roaming fox -- yet enough,
perhaps, to retrace
the retreating steps, like the noose
that is the trellis, once compared
to the brilliant firmament -- yet enough,
perhaps, to support
the ready ship, like the morning
that is Venus, once consumed
by the coming sun -- yet enough,
perhaps, to awaken
the sleeping man, like the wisdom
of the inevitable failure, once compared
to the eternal course -- yet enough,
perhaps, to reach
	
	
	
To the fox, the sour grapes
became some other fruit, unworthy
of the true self -- yet enough,
perhaps, to quiet
the grumbling child, like the darkness
that is the lantern, once compared
to the distant star -- yet enough
perhaps, to allow
the shipbuilder's work, like the hunger
that is the rabbit, once consumed
by the roaming fox -- yet enough,
perhaps, to retrace
the retreating steps, like the noose
that is the trellis, once compared
to the brilliant firmament -- yet enough,
perhaps, to support
the ready ship, like the morning
that is Venus, once consumed
by the coming sun -- yet enough,
perhaps, to awaken
the sleeping man, like the wisdom
of the inevitable failure, once compared
to the eternal course -- yet enough,
perhaps, to reach

 

 
