The Night The Leaves Grew
Knowledge blooms where Heaven staggers to and fro.
Like when the maple sways, or swallows whole
its budding brace, or suddenly begins to grow.
If I heard correctly, the wizard's arc and magic song
or the martyrs who had never felt so less than lost.
If their science tried to pray in their place or remembered
the patron's cost.
To me it would seem, through it all or without any penny
left to toss, to a wish at its best, for the maple nor less,
that Heaven had been it's chosen spot.