The Exile
janine canan
I always wanted to love your wild flowering fields,
climb your narrowest passes,
rise through snow to the gathering clouds,
and pierce like rain your wet black soil.
I always wanted to breathe with the seeds,
spread my broad green leaves,
sprout buds bursting with heady fragrances
and shed sumptuous petals at your feet.
I always wanted to release every golden fruit,
sleep through the slow groaning ice
and waken on your jubilant meadow --
but I was exiled to this world of immortal complaint.
