the unseen, the unfelt,

an unexpalainable state of things,

like unbeaten spring-time winds,-

the unknown ever wins.

the not-yours, the strange, the alien,

the untouched, the undared to gain,

thoughts are flooding the brain

snowing coldly and raining,-

all's important that seemed to be vain.

all 'thout the value becomes a priority,

all the granted becomes a completion,

simple words are ranging in poetry,

fears, uncertainties demand abolition.

th' wet ground's drying under the new sun:

what is reached is reached, what is done is done,-

mere surviving and the longing-for fun.

Ivan Petryshyn