often, for jars filled with splendor—
O splendor and radiance!
I have reachedoften, for those jars put up high—
O just one and I’ll go!
Once, I nearly had one:a jar shimmering with an enchanted life;
a true poet’s life. I was close…
But one cannot remainclimbing these shelves of life;
I know my jar resides much further down—
O, I do know!
But jealous I am of the birdand his wings, his flight, his song—
he knows splendor.
Jealous I am of the falling snowand the rain, the grace of a season’s change—
they too know splendor.
I am jealous of this world—all the greatness that shines beyond anonymity;
all the love that avoids my open arms.
What have I? What have I donethat something should admire me?
I do not know splendor.
Once, I sent for Death.But it shook its head no and turned away.
And I was left alone, a bit forlorn,
in the shadow of its splendor.
(From the book Kairos)