not my plans as such but residues –
ideas that never flew for want of
gravities’ largess; and yet a taste
of camembert between suggests
maybe they did
one needs to fail in little ways to
learn success; as yearning grows
it plays a subtle tune within, a
harmony to spurn an easy score
– of sun-drenched lazy days
therein a ripening begins for
those whose egos never dream
as adulation’s slave; in learning
to be free of faux prestige a
liberty of trust is duly paid
© 21 November 2009, I. D. Carswell
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