Sonnet 14

Choosing the Battle

Wait if you will for the wind to blow
you from your stem into the world,
I refuse to believe I’m just for show,
though it’s easier to wait, arms unfurled

for the next breath to set me aflight.
Instead of struggling over the hilltops
to the crest of the mountain—always a fight—
just let the breeze carry me through raindrops.

But no, it’s my life, I must make my own way,
carry my own weight where I wish to go.
If I tamely wait here, I may fall prey
to lethargic languor and become too slow.

I will struggle on always though it is hard
and I may arrive at last, battered and scarred.