What is this way where memories trod
where all of life and sunlight plays
and every creature's gift from God
the guidance of the gentle way?
Who chose this first a path to take
through thick and prickly brambles go,
both man and beast to start awake
along meandering river's flow?
Why journey where we've always been
and while we look we never see,
just to go, then back again -
days rush by while beauty pleads?
When, at last, will we pause,
see what we pass along the way -
listen to the rain's applause
and drink the scents of its bouquet?
Where will it end around the bend
when rushing days are finally through
and life is almost at its end
what of value was accrued?
Goethe Stanza, June 26, 2014