Hear the cutting of the trees,
The loud metal machines.
shredding softer bark and home
Of birds and Opossum.
Nature is often raped.
And with no thought
But a job to be done.
No morality or awareness
Kindness or prayer.
My heart breaks.
Again, and aging.
So, I offer this prayer.
To the trees
Of the east, south, west, and north…
I love you and I am sorry.
That so many humans
Are so cruel and uncaring and slow to your suffering.
Holly D. Cornell 3/21/2024
William Blake
I asked two people what brought them to see Blake today ?
An older man with a cane and a hat looked at me obtrusively and said,
“Why not?”
A middle aged woman told me,
“I have been drawn to the colors in his watercolors.”
A man with a bright English dialect was very polite when we shared some words in front of Blake’s Divine Comedy watercolors.
“Larger than I suspected.” I declared.
He responded,
“I am here with my daughter and her friend. I think he will like this. His name is Dante.”
I danced through the images as I scanned it all with my soul’s eye!
So much Blake is like too much cake.
I’ve spent the next day reviewing and recovering.
I did not find his glowing eyes nor did I see an angelic being.
There in the museum,
as I do in my simple imagination.
Content.
#WorldPoetryDay 3/21/2024
