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These words,
Falling upon the page with hidden grace
Seem, to some, to reveal simple truths,
To others,
They are vast wells,
With unknown profundities lurking
At the very bottom of their depths.
In truth,
Each can be encloaked in night,
It's treasures
Withdrawing ever further
From the scholar's grasp.
Or naked
Baring all before the world,
So simple,
The self-same scholar
Cannot see.
Only one might scry
Their hearts -
He who,
As God,
Created them in seven strokes of savvy.
And yet,
Even I wonder…

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