It was an autumn day, I think,
A green-and-orange season;
We stood out on the campus by
The pond of hopes and dreams
She told me of the journeys she would
Take – and she had reasons –
To look beyond for something
Less mundane then yesterday
But as for me, I had no dreams,
Except those I had borrowed –
But she betrayed no clemency
For weakness such as this
She said, “Just speak the truth,
And know: the world is full of sorrows.
And cowards never find the answers
Anywhere. At all.”
She stood there in perfection, all
That three-and-twenty made her;
Her capital suggestion had not yet
Quite found a home –
For I could plainly see it: her
Stray thoughts – they had betrayed her –
She only spoke the truth when there
Was nothing else
To tell
beautiful poem –
“You”, Writer or Reader?-A poem is where “you” stand; A poem is where “you” stand.
I routinely tell stories where I reverse the actual roles of the people involved. In this case, I was the advice giving liar, and she saw through me.
She was so right.