A Time to Bend
Trees that bend and quake in the wind yet
seldom do they break a limb.
They toss and flail and let leaves sail, like drops of
water from a young girl's hair shaking her head
after taking a shower.
The young trees take delight in this, as if the wind
were made for bliss.
But the old trees seem to creak and moan as if
they'd rather be left alone.
While the wind just seems to take delight in
testing them against its might.
Which is stronger, the wind or the tree? Both of
them seem weak to me.
The tree is too set in its ways to move while the
wind always seems to have something to prove.
But the young trees seem to understand there's
a time to bend and a time to stand.
My Flower
My wife is a fragile flower. I support her with
all my strength and hold her fast against the
wind.
Sometimes I bow to ice and rain as humans will to
vice and pain.
But 'tis then that she leans over me offering her
beauty until the sun comes out again then i lift her
high above me and offer her the glory.
My wish when time has left my life an hour is this
that l am with my wife, my flower.
Carefree
Many times I wished that I could be a carefree
butterfly.
Though surely they must have some care.
You'd never know it by the way they float on air
viewing them at one quick glance.
You'd say they lived their lives by chance.
But taken over time you'd know there's order in
their ebb and glow.
But I think it suits the butterflies to keep their
order in disguise.
So "ordered" men like you and I can marvel at the
way they fly.
These poems were written by Andy Morn, who was security stuff at Rev. and Mrs. Moon's residence in the US. Now, if somebody's bodyguard is so profound, wouldn't you like to hear what he has to say?