To J. M. on Her Nineteenth Birthday

You, simpleton,
Watching the world with wonder as it turns,
Exploring with sense fingers new textures,
Admiring the grace of falling fluting petals
Nor thinking of the death to which they fall.

You, stranger,
Living on the surface, accepting facts,
Without understanding the implications,
Seeking no inner meanings.
When will you see and think, when does the mind
Perceive through the picture the pattern?

You, chasing headlong
On to the plank bridging eternity, but looking
With nearsighted eyes into the blankness of your mind,
To find no answer to questions not yet understood;
Only knowing your aloneness, bewilderment
By adult life, ideals and actions;
Clinging to the blinding hopes of childhood,
Who, receiving the fruits desired by others,
Find them to the immature, sour.

You. too young for the age you have,
Older than all your desires,
Bon voyage, child.