This physical shell, the manifestation of me,
Is it simply what it seems to be?
Am I merely as I look?
Or is this vision of me often mistook?
My whole being transformed into a material thing,
With no thought given to what makes me sing,
Or dream of all of those beautiful days,
Of warm sunshine, and evening haze,
Of a full moon filling a dark blue sky,
With silvery light to help see by,
Of a summer breeze blowing meadow flowers,
And rainbows framing springtime showers.
It takes much more to make the man,
Than what he owns, or how much he can,
Gain from his striving in the short time he's given,
No one finds happiness by being driven,
By forces which are beyond his own control,
He needs to find his self, to make him whole!
Tom Higgins 17/10/2012
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem