When I note ...

 

When I note, on page 36, 

that a certain culmination 

took four seasons,

I know it’s right for me

to read this book slowly,

savouring and pondering 

each poem’s delight,

its mystery.

A book of poems arrives ...

A book of poems arrives,

titled for a mythical/historical 

being I greatly revere –

gift from a friend. She 

has tucked an extra poem,

one of her own,

inspired by this book,

inside its front cover. 

Naturally I read that first,

savour it, cherish it. The rest 

I choose to discover slowly … 

already taking this gift,

poem by poem, into my heart.