For Harry

My soul is like a Bonsai Tree,
with tendril roots deep in humanity,
beneath spirit's flickering grow light.

I have little freedom now and when,
save choice of religious pot and soil,
and artificial light or window seat.

Prune as I may, and twist and bend,
I am limited by other's perceptions
of what a fine tree I can be for them.

But I will escape, you will see --
for some of my cones are smuggled out
to be nurtured in the forest of dreams.

Look for the joy in children's eyes,
and the song in the heart of a friend;
for my seed will be there along with yours.

papa 01/07/06