| The Poet and the Flowers Once again we are betrayed, the words and I. . . faced with a challenge we cannot meet. We cannot translate the quiet splendor of a flower into symbols set on paper. . . or sounds the symbols signify. We are impotent, the words and I. Inept, incapable, awkward jesters of the court mumbling through the sacred halls of beauty's majesty. How could we presume to describe the sweetness of a rose? Colors heightened by the dew upon it, tears of happiness shed upon its petals when heaven saw the wonder it had made. We admit defeat, the words and I. We cannot tell the story of the flowers. They do not need our counsel. They have counsel with the angels. -- Jim Metcalfe, Jim Metcalf's Journal |
| Music: Some Days are Diamonds Whispers - Home Friday's Journal Old New Orleans |
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