The Wand’rer on the golden road
Is full of folk-song, folk-tale and -memory
And he carries it, gently, all
Across Time’s Corridor.
Like grass we fall to earth to seed
Take root and spring.
All too short our flourishing
And then the Sickle stops at us.
Hold fast to memories of your history:
All of them that wove the Tapestry.
Do not seek to be the biggest, best or rich
Nor yet famous or revered;
But just, like them, to beautifully BE.
For all the lonely people
Through all the lonely years
That led to this, to you and us,
My love let us give thanks.