a feather goes by
blowing in the wind,
and then back the other way
in a dying tailspin-
it comes
it goes,
wherever
the wild wind blows-
and so, the vain plans of man
like a house built of straw,
it all rises...
only to fall-
as a vapor
riding in the wind,
we're here just a moment
then, gone once again-
Sadly, you are so right. i guess the answer is not blowing in the wind. Truly, a great metaphor for life.s condition
We certainly are Smoky - beautifully written, and a great metaphor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hey Smoky great poem with a very definite message well done