I shall not build towers;
Skyward to sun’s flowers.
Lest, in climbing I be blinded by the light,
And stumbling fall, to see the sight.
Scattered by broken dreams;
Parch and die on desert sand’s gleam.
Instead, when sky are gray,
On an autumn late day,
I would plant soil, pat it into mud;
Into its soon slumber season of thud…
And when they will have said:
“The snowdrifts was worse then dread.”
“That long winter was worst than dead.”
There, in wonder the brave flower-
Jeweled snowdrifts in white radiant lover;
Silently awakening my heart at the site,
To sounds of unseen vibrant earth’s might!! …