I went outdoors with book in hand
To read and muse on a warm day
Sun-filled and bright, above the oaks
The white puffs slid; I read my book
And then looked up, the page did dance
To find the author of the kiss
That felt implanted on my cheek
I smiled the wise man’s knowing smile
To find the author was the breeze
Some questions then in me arose
About the moving clouds and breeze
What is their source, where do they go?
I realized then, man’s dearth of ken
On matters right before their eyes.
Mankind seems alone to heed,
The mundane objects of his need.
-p.
Leonard N, Shapiro N.Y. 7/19/21
** in the style of the Shakespearean Sonnet: iambic pentameter, 14 lines and a two line rhyming couplet.
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