My trees have stood their ground: A poem 

I waited three scores, but I never knocked doors 

I was all too sublime, for it to take its time 

The raincoat of spirit is the vestment of honour 

The mettle of duty at every humbling corner 

When the messenger of hope calls on me twice 

I’ll tell him that even if it’s too late, hope never dies 

Desires can be many, but determination is singular 

The success of eventuality burns up all the failure 

Even failure is a flower in the ongoing classroom of life 

The teacher of experience is betrothed like a wife 

A star-spangled vision is not blurred like a mere illusion 

The candour of fate cometh like an aurora’s blanketing diffusion 

It is meticulous like a spaceship, in its choosing a landing strip 

The answer is a tide with a rip, a song from destiny’s lip 

And I am the shore of a country with treasures lost to be found 

In the stormy shackles of decades, my trees have stood their ground