What does it mean? I would be wise and kind.
I would sing songs of Beauty, Goodness too.
Yet blowers of leaves bring murder to mind.
The noise is hurting me and I must do
what do I must. What may a man resolve?
What Goodness might a soul all-gently will
that painful nagging whirring won’t dissolve?
We wisdom seek, but still the spleen o’er-spills.
We would discover general insight
and clarity like fire widely spread.
We open shoulders, turn inside-out — that Light
divine might fill our conscious space. But dread
and violent musings set goodwill to flight.
A world of nicks and tears perturb our thought.
Destroy please the vice where our hearts get caught.

Author: BW
Editor: AW
Copyright: AMW