Rich Enough

Whispers in the Cotton Grass

Life isn’t always

a breathless footrace with death.

Life isn’t just

ten thousand plodding steps

towards petty goals.

No, life is rich enough

to be just whispers in the cotton grass…

Life is rich enough

to forget the hours and bread

                      and death.

But all these busy people –

with pay packets and wristwatches

and dining rooms of blond birch…?

They are so stingy with the minutes.

The cry from their hearts is drowned

in the noise of pistons and steel.

But cotton grass whispers in the south wind

the simple song

that their hearts remember on factory floors.

And lonely birds

sail in the sun

sail in the sun and shriek…

by Hans BØrli   (1918-1989)

Norwegian lumberjack by day, poet by night.