A poem

Like trade winds blowing over the deep,
I always come back to you, my muse.
The tomes of humanity lure me away,
and I am enchanted for moments and hours.
The words of men peak my interest and then,
like a flower in bloom for an inkling of time,
their lines fly like feathers and I come ,
returning to your eternal sweetness again.

We are all little men in a world that's gone blind,
tatterered and scattered in the attic of time.
Cut from the root, still appearing alive.
But that life's like a boiling pot left alone,
evaporating slowly 'til the water's all gone.

You've come to graft the vine, to gently restore
what was lost.
You come like a fire and a flood, like a tiny flame
or the spring rain.
You present yourself in whatever way you must.
For the sake of the joy set before you.
And still, I can choose to ignore you.
How your love trumps the wisdom of men!
I am riding the trade winds again.