A star speckled sky on a moonlit night
Leads the traveler on his quest for sight.
He seeks to find one who knows
That which helps man’s mind grow.
On his path through bog and bush
The forest path falls to a hush.
The path on which Traveler treads
Is one of uneasy, unknown dread.
A startled cry darts from his lips.
He sheepishly gazes upon a broken stick.
As if in answer to his cry,
He sees an outline in the sky.
Perched on a bare tree of great size
A great owl opens his eyes so wise.
His knowing smile makes Traveler ponder.
The owl speaks, “Wisdom begins in wonder.” [i]
“Curious,” states the intrigued man,
But he chooses to take the opportunity in hand.
“Sir Owl, I seek to know what knowledge is.”
The owl responds, “What knowledge is?
Is knowledge that which wise men seek
Or that they wish to dull with sleep?
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers. [ii]
Which begs the question, Can knowledge slip through one’s fingers?
If information is not knowledge [iii]
Then to what studies do our scholars pledge?
Whence the well from which they drink
To quench the thirst to think?
Traveler, listen to what is writ—
The end of knowledge is to dream
High enough to lose the dream
In the seeking of it.”[iv]
As the owl speaks, he pauses.
He settles down upon his claws.
With a ruffle of his feathers and a flap of his wings
He gives Traveler time to reflect upon these things.
Traveler responds,
“A man without knowledge
Risks sliding off a ledge
To close-minded prejudice
And foolish precipice.
Knowledge can lie in content or skill
And in teachers who realize they are learners still.
A wise man understands there is much to know
And in his life his own mind to grow.
A man can hold intelligence in more than his mind.
Just fix your eyes on at his talents and knowledge you find.”
The owl gazes down upon Traveler with thought.
“It appears Traveler you have found what you sought.”
Traveler responds with an understanding smile.
He continues his journey of never-ending miles.
That is amazing you could write that as a first draft with very minimal changes. Some people are gifted at creative. I remember in middle school art class, we were given papers in half circles and full circles and told to draw something on them. I drew some beginners' pictures of random objects. The students with more of an eye for art saw the half circle as a slice of watermelon and the circle as a slice of orange. My thought was they were clever and how did they see it? Made sense though once they did it! All that to say - - I was never creative at poetry either - - - hated having to write a poem for an assignment.
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