It's not the one straight up on stilts
or flashing fire engine red
nor shouting out obscenities
or drenched in dreadful fragrances
nor the smug one in the lineup
guilty of dispatching sense
or busting clocks with baseball bats.

It's more the one not quickly seen
between the coffin and first kiss

before a door to all the world
(which opens and is never locked)

the patient verse of centuries
that waits to whisper in your ears
those truths so old they're new to you
with words which must not hide themselves:

the subtle one with much to say.