As I walked abroad this early dawn, 
  Fir tops whipping a slate gray sky,
Mulling issues of war and peace,
  My longing for a seasoned leader,
One who can learn from history, 
  Who takes council from the wind,
Who loves passion all woods and seas,
  Grows in me with each gust and turn.

My yearning quickens. Why cannot our nation
  Call forth a chief with vision?       
Where is our wise teacher                
  Who has moved through anger, fear, despair 
To compassion? Where is a President with soul,
  Who cares for all our planet's peoples,
Threatened creatures, water, air and soils,
  Who insists on every means to find the peaceful way?

A branch crashes almost at my feet.
  Just then I recall the words of Tolstoy:
     "A nation empowers the leader it deserves!"
"Can this be true?" I ask the wind,  
                           Sighing now in sadness.

A stretch of clouds, gray
In their demeanor spreads
Across the dawn sky.
Behind that line is fire.

On the floor below the tower room
where I write now, Jack's study nurtures
a praying, reading person once more,
offers a haven where calm pervades.

This ground, this house, is hallowed
for growth. The tone of blooming
forsythia, the flowering of a well-pruned
plum mock any being who here 
and does not flourish like the coming light.
The sun rises, in spite of everything.

May 1, 2002