The Morns of God

I shall return to the forests of my youth,

In their protecting aura rest awhile,

No comfort seek nor grief-torn heart to soothe

But walk alone mile on silent mile

And speak of her to the fluttering leaves

And lean against a friendly trunk and sleep

To wake in beauty as the music weaves

Between the soaring branches; I shall weep

But little now amongst these royal friends,

Another round complete the soul again

Begins. I know not how the journey ends

And of the future when the past is slain

Know even less, or of my being's fate.

Resolved, I shall surrender joyfully,

In the eternal present I will wait

The morns of God and earthly destiny.