A curious breeze,
creeping through a looming clump
of evergreen pine and everchanging aspen,
whistles a merry tune of wonder
as it seeks ins non-existent destination.
Life is a circle of searching and longing
for a final place to sit and rest
and converse with the dew and mosses,
which reside peacefully
upon their rocks and flowers.
This breeze longs to soar into the skies,
bluer and clearer than anything
known to the mortal eye;
to lie on the clouds and sleep,
dreaming of angelic choirs
who sing an eternity of praising hymns.
The worlds is like unto this breeze
We search infinitely for what we need most:
The gift we would use to create
a final statement of celestial existence.
But forever we are seeking
for our non-existent destination.
written January 1994