Being Known

They see my flower arrangements,
mu Buddha altars,
read my poems
my eloquent letters
they think that’s really
who I am.
But do they know me,
truly know me,
as I want to be known,
asked the Poet with great longing.

Oh, come to see
my red and yellow leaves
so beautiful in the fall.
Gather me into your arms
and you will come
to know me,
said the Poison Oak.

They say felines are
mysterious.
Look into my eyes
and I will show you
only what I want you to see.
Love me so
or leave me, said the White Cat.