by Cameron Henderson
Strange that we should place
All our hopes in a visible face,
And deposit our dreams,
In what is not, and only seems.
As if the flower itself is greater,
Than the Thought Itself that made her,
Or how can the bloom, lasting but a day,
be more precious than eternal May?
Spring-Blossoms and even then,
The most intricate relations of men,
Are really only signs and sails,
So that when sense-love finally fails,
We might make our way to lasting peace,
And lasting Love that will never cease.
Cameron Henderson writes from Boulder, Colorado and is a 1997 convert to the Catholic Faith. You may email Cameron at sanctejoseph@yahoo.com.
