There's a poem outside my window
that refuses to be written down.
Having no need to be published,
It desires rather to be taken in,
Utterly received, tenderly integrated,
lovingly included in my life.

It summons me
to behold it in silence,
cradling its healing graces,
enjoy its magical aura,
keep it secret
except for those
who notice it on their own.

It does not wish to be proclaimed, named or analyzed;
It desires rather to be slowly revealed,
honored and absorbed.
As it shyly releases its energy
it wants to enchant me, entrance me,
drawing me into the miracle
of being in the quiet
mystery of its company.

Look out your window!
There's a poem waiting for you, too.