The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i’ the slushy sand.
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!
because maybe before you step,
you’ll look at the ground. I want that blessing.
A blessing perhaps if all you want is consideration, but not such a blessing if you still get squished like a bug by someone’s bare foot (someone who has factored the costs, or is oblivious to them). An African proverb has a slightly different take on the same theme:
When elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers.
Do the elephants look at the ground? Would they, if the “bare foot” theory of Rumi were true?
FSM is my chef; I shall not starve.
He maketh me rigatoni with sweet sauces:
He leadeth me inside the kitchen.
He restoreth good taste:
He leadeth me to the pasta strainer for al dente’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the foodcourt lacking pasta,
I shall fear no burgers: for thou art with me;
Thy noodley appendages, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me with marinara and alfredo;
Thou annointest my spaghetti with meatballs; My plate runneth over.
Surely cappucino and dessert shall follow pasta all the meals of my life,
and I will eat in the Olive Garden forever.
Food for thought…
a blog about the poetry of information security, since 1995
