The little wisp,
Upturn of hair at the very end,
I fight with it,
Plead on mental knees,
But still it entrances,
Captivates,
Lures,
Me to a losing gamble,
I am a fool,
To be snared like this,
Foolish
Delirious boy,
Yet I sit,
Stand,
Float here,
With my knowledge,
Tending to it,
Like a windowsill fern,
With plenty of sunlight,
Bright and green and lush,
But for the wind,
Ever faithful,
Honest wind,
Will knock and shatter,
The little clay pot,
The wisp of hair,
And with my knowledge,
I wonder,
Doesn't the plant live on?
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