I see a swallow across the fields,
There’s something; I’m walking away from thence,
So long I feel the air into a void suspense,
So long is the time I felt my spirit run,
Whose beauty can only testify ere the Sun,
Blesséd is I; this gifted joy can never go.

And the light that shines me this dainty glow,
A howling through the wind the tree brushes,
No sight so simple as much the blood rushes,
Whose flesh can never hold his mind so weak,
Whose steps through the way yonder seek,
My time erased or long has it come so far.

Or whilst I walk shall I never have walked,
This world once with rife, twice with strife,
Yet so petty the curéd tasks we do in life,
Nor do we know where the bigger picture lie,
Nor never shall see more nor until we die,
All the beings beheld in honour and truth.

The smallest ant in the abyss so small,
Knows not a metre high than its height,
Yet continues to walk through the land,
Yet continues to walk in order to live,
What’s happening though not relevant yet,
But in time sees how the ant fits so well.

And the paradise I find myself in we call,
Nor better is the way that reaches forward,
Grabs the first sight of the glimpse in view,
Looked well neath the ford that took me hence,
Is but fate who through no wind nor rain takes,
Nor storm that calms me by is worse than leave.

To tell me, Fate, when I’m going homeward bound,
This garden of Paradise can only spell so long,
Colours that once I find not even acid to shape,
Sounds I hear that sparked my life once more,
A sense of being that I smell greater than love,
A sense of unity at peace with the Universe.

Nature, Poetry, Works
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