Written by: Terry Trainor

I walked through cities passing factories, in thick smog, dim lights searching,
Over fields of sweet young green corn with a sharp slap from coldest east wind,
Through fickleness of uncertainty of climates looking high and low not finding,
Blaming seasons for standing up to their ancient character but feeling let down.

Asking men of science, literature, and enterprises many questions for my search,
Walking through heavy snows and shivering winds blowing icy sleet on black days,
Talking to country people interrogating all that I meet asking the same of each,
Nobody can explain or answer my question satisfactorily even as I shout in rage.

Cold as these winds are I bluster onwards there must be an answer come what will,
Over freezing meadows so cold the grass cracks with every footstep I have to know,
Standing on top of the highest hills for hours looking far into the distant lands,
Running alongside rushing rivers following the cold bright sunlight to places new.

My hand shielding my eyes and tears from blinding brightness ran down my cheeks,
A sparkle in the far off distance, so many miles away on a flat horizon was hope,
I ran with the winds through leafless forests, gnarled knotted branches creaking,
There I found my peace, natures garden, standing under pear blossom white as snow.