Goethe's Path

Fragrance of woods, both pungent, sweet, the sunlight's warm rays awaken, arising from the loam replete; clear pathway to peace, forsaken. Sacred, this temple's quietude its solemn still aisle seldom trod by man, reserved its solitude for feet of innocents and God. I cannot enter; bar the gate! Such beauty I can never know my sins would surely overtake . . . soul-starving I must ever go. Should I dare step in . . . touching it . . . like another Eden's garden altered this pure path, made unfit, with sword wielding angel warden. © Faye Lanham Gibson, June 18, 2014