When future's tale is mostly veiled,
and past recedes away,
when all of life is twists and turns,
and passes day by day,

With exhilarating swiftness,
Or plodding drudgery,
we look for signs of secret fire
to set the spirit free.

She calls us to adventure,
and to see the self made pure,
She gives off strength of lembas-bread,
To make the journey sure.

She’s found in tiny rivulets,
of hearts aching to be free,
And swells to a crescendo,
in sacramental symphony.

She exhales her breath of dignity,
and floods us with her scent,
Of transcendental meadows
‘Neath peaks irradiant.