The wonder of the just ordinary, mundane
Nothing, under heaven, remains the same.
The glint, the glance, the gaze, the smile,
The unconscious optimism of the one more 
pilgrim mile. 'It’ll be OK’, ‘Live to fight another day.’
Looking down at the myriad of wild flowers
Born to make a carpet on this valley floor.
I look up at the swirling clouds of grey-blue
Each one a reflection of an unassumed eternity.
That cancels the stare that seeks to cause hurt
The turning of the back and all the ungentilities of flirt.
The passing glance, the slow subtle variation in tone,
Disguising, all the time, the all-abiding always secret wish not to be alone.