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.