Born With Blues
There is a thistle in the field.
I see the blue bird take its yield.
Through the morning mist and dew,
she flies into a sky pale blue.
I see a leaf fall on a lake.
The waters ripple,
the surface image changes shape.
In those dancing waters blue,
appears a face of a woman I feel I knew.
The blue bird swoops across the lake,
she takes the leaf from the water's wake.
The waters calm, they consume her face,
To leave reflecting mountain shapes.
All these things happened in a sigh.
I see them all in your blue eyes.
All the blues I have inside,
leave me living toward tomorrow.
You know those blues I can't forsake.
P. J. Campise
