The growing soul aches
tiny roots,
dark
with inborn restlessness
to stir
strange seas
unfurled,
And vast shores
never dawned
what is
is a
restlessness of soul
urging
your upward reaching
spirit.
Dead wrong
it always comes
easy enough
when nothing tempts
your soul away
But it’s only virtue
that is
cumbered to-day
And hides
these
we find
but once.