World Wanderer

I have set foot in sands pitch black I have smelled the delicate aroma of mountain stream lillies My fingers have traced the lines on ancient dawn redwoods My eyes have ranged acrossed the elegant curves of ageless waves I have tasted the sour passionfruit, plucked from high trees I have prayed in the cells of long dead monks, who prayed long before me I have felt the stony coldness of the great arcs in the desert My breath has become part of the world around me, as will I, when my long days of everywhere are done.