Finis Coronat Opus

A weary soul stands on a path ‘Neath signposts worn in weather’s blast; Two ways before his footfall lie, One far from thence, the other nigh. The trav’ler long has known the near: For there he shed his infant tears, And grew to manhood, seeking oft To dig his roots in soil soft. But nearer place, despite its past, Would not permit a soul to last, So thin was earth beneath those plants That hope would wither at a glance. So trav’ler sets his face ahead To northward path, toward rocky tread, With hopes anew within his breast That mountains great shall be his rest: Where rolling hills and rivers cold, And trees ablaze in colors bold Awaken light within his heart, And soothe the wounds of lonely darts.

Yon trav’ler weary, sleepless, stays Alert and wakeful through the day As hours linger slowly on And bate the night ‘ere break of dawn. This wand’rer seeks anew a plane Where love and hope are born again; For heart so heavy they now bear And toward the twilight yearning stare. When end of journey beckons swift, And eyes may gaze upon that gift Of hope and vision, close to sense, Such trav’lers hasten ever thence.

Mark you, how casts the setting sun His rays on yonder stony wall, Reflecting gold as if the dawn Shone forth through sun’s traverses all. Yon’ wall is aged, storied oft’; ’Til late, ’twas locked and shut to eyes That fairest bloom in garden sought: All beauty there seemed doomed to die. The ground lay fallow, ‘neath the shade Of stony ridge man’s hand cast up To shield the springing grassy blades From idle hands too keen to pluck. Then gard’ner kind did find the key, Unlock the gate and enter in And nurture plants that dying seemed To glory there that had not been. So mark, how lovely now appears That walled-in garden, tended so, By caring hands that value dear The blooms and blossoms they well know.

At end of path, ‘mid autumn leaves Of crimson, gold and amber bright, There lies a gorge, where waters deep Cascade o’er rock in roaring might. As downward plunges river white To pool beneath the stony edge, A wisp of breeze takes up in flight The leaves which fell o’er rocky ledge. Along the windy cusp they dance, As pixies do in moonlit glade, And catch the sunlight’s gleam; entranced The trav’ler watches from the shade. Far up they waft, in shimm’ring lay, They bow and curtsy to and fro, And ‘round they circle, all the day, While nature, watching, takes repose. Photo taken at Burgess Falls, TN

A heart in pieces shattered lay Among the dreams and hopes that gazed To future prospects fair and bright: Now in the dust they lose their light. In fragments glist’ning with her tears, A maiden who, in younger year, Had dreamed a vision so surreal  Alone among her hopes did kneel. Time hastened by with steady tread And still her grief remained her bed, Until her wounds began to knit, And Hope’s faint lamp again was lit. ‘Ere vent’ring forth she dared to stir,  Another soul knelt next to her And slowly took her fractured heart, And worked, in time, the fairest art.