Pilgrimage to the East Oct. 1999

We were young and the call of the mysteried East

Ran swiftly through the blood of our youthful veins.

Unknowing the mind was pulled across the earth

By the beckoning spiritÕs laugh, the invisible reins

Of joy attending the hour and hope of new birth.

Now in the dusk of memory there flee

Fragments of beauty, scent of the mystical rose

Intimations of an arcane mystery

Glimpses of the inner being thrilled

At the spark that in our bosom silently grows

And love refound and life again fulfilled.