The Itinerant Idealist
With metered strides in step with time,
They pass the hue-strewn fields;
Eyes fixed down on ruts and rocks,
Determined not to yield.
Resolute to cover ground,
Oblivious to all around,
They keep their hearts concealed.
But in this march of madding moves
One girl against the tide–
Against the lockstep of the crowd,
She breaks their stilted stride,
To follow music of her own,
To find the seeds of others sown,
The dreams of hearts revealed.
She sees what only opened eyes
Can see beyond their way–
Not rocks and ruts, but seas and sands
She knows she’ll find some day.
The promises are all around,
In every color, taste, and sound…
All close enough to feel.
Distracting beauty draws her in,
While others pass her by;
She stops alone to taste the field,
And savor it a while…
And drinking deeply there she dreams
Of distant shores and splashing streams,
Of all she knows is real..
Dull others, plodding, will not find,
These seeds of beauty sown;
But she, entranced by flowered fields,
Will dream of seeds her own:
For those with eyes who’ll also see,
For those who’ll join her search to be,
A tender of the heart’s ideals.
By Clay Clarkson
(Written and given to me by my father upon the celebration of my 23rd birthday. The picture above is the same one that graced the front of the card in which I found the poem. They just belong together.)