The Oncome of the Storm

I flung my soul to the wind with high endeavor
And awaited the oncome of the storm;
Perhaps had I the passion for nature
As the Poet deep, whose wondrous works I found –
Perhaps my empty mind would then impound
The wily wind in all its wondrous form,
And cast my soul as leaves upon the ground.

I cast my soul to the ground with reckless abandon,
And raised my voice to the lofty heights
Of the falcon, which the Poet deep, though seldom
Spoke in earthly ways, honored in the azure skies,
Even as she soars and turns and dives,
And gasped in awe at the beauty of her flight,
As beyond our reach of Nature she abides.

I lifted my soul to the skies in all their wonder,
To the power of the sun I turned my trust,
And watched as he plucked our years asunder
From beneath the solid forts of our own births,
His presence from this life hurries us forth,
As slowly, we return unto the dust;
And from us strips the laughter of our mirths.

And so I took my soul within me to the grave,
As till I die where I go, there it will be,
And I am surely blessed, that I will ever have
More life than can our wondrous Nature ever plea;
Even as the Poet will claim most fervently
If his purpose is the glories of this earth to see,
Our Glory lies with naught outside eternity!