Midnight Poet Strikes Again - The Wise Babble

Where to look? Not where I’m told.

Where hope and dreams and possibilities of bold

Intent

Showed me it was time well spent

To step aside and let their parade march down.

My life was on the other side of town.

And so they veered, and I stayed home.

My sampler’s maxims left intact,

A stormy ocean white with foam

Expecting me to make a pact

With waves that swell and toss me under

And from my brother torn asunder.

I choose instead, my backyard stream.

Wisdom gleaned from predictable flow

Knowing where it wants to go.

Moving forward, to bigger things, sure.

But kept so focused, simple, and pure:

I can’t help but float and listen to its wise babble.