The Man Who Seeks The Harvest Fly

This man that moves in front of me,
He must know something more than I.

His steps are sure, his limbs are spry,
He’s not afraid to say goodbye –

To the noise of his native metropolis,
Or the bumbling bees amidst Versailles.

He’s searching night and day, of course,
For the summer song of the harvest fly.

See me, I’m just an average guy,
Who spends his time in the countryside.

So as I stumble on concrete streets,
The city beats in warm July;

While the traveling man’s gaze on the fading sky
Obscures his view of the lonely cowpie.

Poetry by Ted Boughter-Dornfeld Copyright © 2011



“I have worn the dust of many foreign streets, but to brush it off would surely be a crime. I have the memories of many foreign adventures, but to forget them would surely be a sin. So, I breath in the dust, and keep the memories in.” – Rowland Waring-Flood

Keep Moving

“I always tell my kids if you lay down, people will step over you. But if you keep scrambling, if you keep going, someone will always, always give you a hand. Always. But you gotta keep dancing, you gotta keep your feet moving.” – Morgan Freeman