A poem

Sometimes I think –

The world is made of poems.

They hide in crevices
Hibernate in rock
Call out silently
Madenning whispers that dance on the air

And other times I think
Who are you to describe
The sound of children playing
Four buildings away.

Che Fece

For some people the day comes
when they have to declare the great Yes
or the great No. It's clear at once who has the Yes
ready within him; and saying it,
he goes from honor to honor, strong in his conviction.
He who refuses does not repent. Asked again,
he'd still say no. Yet that no-the right no-
drags him down all his life.

-Constantine Cavafy