A Voice In The Cedar Poem by Dick Holmes

A high-pitched little birdie
in the cedar near the window
wails my rainy day blues.

'Life loves its ironies, '
it sings, 'strings them together
one after another like beads
on a never-ending rosary.
In fact, life is one big irony.
The Uncreated keeps
seeking Itself in its creation.
'Who am I, ' Supreme Knowledge
asks Itself again and again
and answers Itself eternally
through Its myriad dear ones,
exploring every possible angle
and every angle within that angle.

'So there's no use, friend, '
that little birdie sings sweetly,
'trying to fit life into some
neatly packaged mental bubble.
Once the bubble pops, it falls
right back into the shoreless sea.'