Oh, but to feel the touch, His hand
upon the soar of highest light.
To see the vision, clear and planned,
to feel it’s all....just right.

To taste the wine of water’s flow.
To rake the leaves of Autumn crest.
To let one’s mind simply know
the journey won, in lonely quest.

To live and breath the pure clear air
and take the life into the haze.
As one might seem to softly share
of waking thoughts, of wanting days.

If but one must, and must one will
be led the path of cobblestone.
Might one then hear the warbled trill
as on the trek, one feels alone.

For in the day of waning light
a voice shall come into the mind.
A voice to guide a journey’s flight,
a whispered sight before one’s blind.