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Poem

Only those who have suffered despair can 
savor life’s highest delight: Respite from trying times. 
like dew in the desert, warm light in cold nights, 
like sight to the blind and sound to the deaf, 
no mortal earthly joy can ever surpass it. 

For life is fleeting, with a hundred years of daylight 
hiding a thousand years of anxiety, only fools lust 
after power and trifles. But the wise—weary souls 
seasoned by dreary attrition—yearn only 
for the soothing serenity of the scenic hills,  
of the valleys, groves, gorges and prairie fields.

To sit under the shades and feel the cool breeze
across their faces, to recline under moonglow 
upon a sandy beach, without a care in the world, 
drifting through the years immersed in simple pleasures. 

Know this: Eden is contentment. 


Poem released into Public Domain

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