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Don't tell me I'm late
to discover
The first rainbow's birth,
or the laughter of children
catching hailstones
while seeing them
      magically disappear.
Nothing is ever late
to the beginner...
Don't tell me there are
no midgets dancing on the moon,
           answering my soliloquies
     while playing
hide and seek behind
           passing clouds.
Don't tell me I'm dreaming,
as grandmother's ghost
in skeletal smiles
frightens me. Would I
see her
peering from the closet
had I stayed
hidden in my bedcovers?
Nothing is unreal
to the believer...
Don't tell me about 
stars I haven't counted,
as if I knew not how many greet me,
or play with the friendly moth
whose lamp has retired,
or guide the rippling brook 
to quench thirsty seas
that get angry at Heaven's tears
until one morning she gives birth
to the rainbow.
Don't tell me...
Nothing is as it seems
even if stars could be counted.

Manuel L. Ponte - St. Louis, Missouri, July 11, 1982