I lost by not looking, right there,
In front of me, the evidence.

The artic has it’s freedom,
With open arms, it bounds,
Leaving that freedom, I heard a cry.

Where I had walked I saw,
In the cold dust, a hint of a bulb.
It had been showing, I just thought,
I wasn’t where it should be, and;

In the desert a swan found a lily.

©2007, Ron Globe