Cup

I have to smile at my habit

of sipping so lightly

at wisdom’s offered cup

before wanting to pass it along

with genuine generosity

 

and wisdom, more generous still

keeps bringing me flavours

and invitations

to drink the cup dry,

imbibing deeply,

a profound gluttony

I feared for so long,

satiation

from a cup that never empties.

 

These quenched roots

end travel as I have known it,

watering this precious blossom,

the offering not from any gesture;

scent wafting

from these full petals.

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