Perhaps Not a Many Splendor Thing


     
 
 
 
. . . , but it must be something.
 
 
 
For out of its patience
and perseverance:
 
The seed once too tiny
grows into a tree so tall.
 
 
Out of its caring:
 
A piglet
with congenital obesity–
regardless of nativity,
becomes a hypertension-free hog.
No one can call him
“the biggest loser”
while everyone enjoys
his being roast pork.
 
 
Out of its passion:
 
The acrylic paints,
which are causing headache,
can be obras in canvasses;
which bring peace and joy
to its creator;
which bring beauty and wealth
to its purchaser.
 
 
Out of its meekness:
 
A boy turns
into man–
as he gives up
the sole ownership
of his wallet and time
to the girl
who sound
almost like his mom.
 
 
Out of its wonder:
 
A lady turns
into woman
by putting her life at risk
to carry another
for nine months;
by putting her vanity aside
and her figure a history,
while her self-worth modified.
 
 
It turns:
 
A hum
into song,
 
A stomp
into waltz,
 
A puppy
into dog,
 
A cat
into queen
of her
nature-scented
fluffy throne,
 
A house
into home,
 
A tub
into bed
if husband
comes home late
without prior calling
his real boss,
 
A kernel
into popcorn,
 
 
 
Perhaps
it’s not
a many
splendor thing;
 
but it nestles
in our hearts
be young or old.
 
 
 
Mines
owns
my
soul.

 
 
 
 

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