Not All

Not all know what waiting is all about.
Not all flowers bloom and understand
what buds are.
Not all rivers flow and know where the sea is.
Not every event knows the wisdom of destiny.

Beware my son, there is not much of us left
we who have read the lines of our palms
and understand the movement of the stars
we who respect the change of the seasons
and understand the reasons for changes
and transformations
not all caterpillars know about butterflies
beware my son
beginnings are there because
there is always an end, and always remember
my son,
the glory and the gladness that is promised
beyond us.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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