The fog slips in like a shroud eclipsing the panorama
of the mountain’s sides
Where life is as a winging that must soar above the pall
or suffer all it hides.
Some context of this vast unchartered wilderness which
is the confines of my heart
And breeches o’er those valleys, there within the depths
of ignorance that was my start,
Has brought to me upon its beaten breast a shallow
consciousness of what I am
That whistles on the winds of plains wherein reside both
king of beasts and gentle lamb.
There time itself will bare the seed that lives with joy
or dies alone in discontent
As it fulfills an aim that is the longing of the soul or
of the mind, intent.
To move with space and wander in its bright expanse
beneath the sky where mood began
There, confirming this great world is an elegant cushion
for the footfalls of man
And as such must cradle his intense wish to dream and
hope and love and laugh and cry,
For man without one dream is a garden that never blooms
and does not wonder why.