Wisdom’s grace is missed with ease,
when I listen to fancy’s breeze.
The sweet caress of easy ways,
promises hope, then leaves me dazed.
A trap is found in history’s logic
passed down for years as if its tonic.
It blocks the heart that feeds on fears,
and leaves my present in arrears.
Wisdom’s grace comes in with freedom.
It gently kisses, creates anew.
Wisdom’s quiet ways come singing,
dancing smoothly with identity’s “being”.
Author – Bill Tidsbury