illusion

you know as well as i that it’s illusion;
not life nor love,
not mountains nor spaces of dust,
not the trappings of beautiful women
nor moonbeams of flattering sight,
not wealth, not stars,
not visions nor history nor rust,
not the harmony of pleasure
nor the constant arrival of night,
not work, not time,
not houses nor the warmth of mine,
not fairy tales told at sleeping hour
nor the cascades of aging hands,
not pipes, not fire,
not faces kind and unkind,
not the teardrops of lonely mothers
nor wars nor all the dreams of man;
but the ultimate kindness of nature.

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From poetry Volume 2 titled, it's cold on top of the mountain, copyright 1979. Page 2.