Softly

Blow softly, winds, across the desert of my heart
Lest sounds of other years
Obscure my path to future things.
So much there is that lies in dust
And I am loath to have it stirred
By wind or careless feet.
And so I speak to wind and man alike:
Go softly,
Do not stir the hurts of bygone years:
I would be known
As he who sets his face like flint
Toward coming things.
Tomorrow will be brighter
When soft breezes blow
And silent sands lie still.

Veale San