In the unfound pastoral journey,
Where paradise exists, or does it exit?
Resides the enigmas of free will,
That lead to prosperity or awful plagues of congress?
To fly with eagle wings or crawl as a bedeviled snake?
In all things human there is a season,
There is a reason for each intent beneath the sky,
An age for birth and a finale for death,
A while for silence and a direction to discuss,
A moment to pray and a spell to curse,
A space to laugh, and an era to cry.
But in all things human lives one true path,
Grace performs the domestic shades of spirit,
With the ivory tint of meditation,
And intuition of fabulous heart and weight,
Through this observance,
The flow of wisdom turns the tides from sorrows to joy.
