There was a man, a slim man,
whose head was bedecked
with a white cloud
and whose eyes saw dreams
he could not articulate.
He sat one day staring into space
and when I questioned him, he said,
`I am sitting and watching the grass grow.’
I hesitated far too long
and have lived to regret it.
I wish the courage had been mine
to have asked him
to share his dreams with me.
For he bequeathed to me
a mind that does not rest.
I have the thought that his faher
and father before him
wrestled the same misty vision
which now is mine to set in motion.
I question this strange bequest,
for I have not
the staunch heart required
to lay to rest my ancestor’s anguish.
Papa, I plead now,
to replace my heart with hot ore,
inject me with a vial
of celestial courage
and fuse my spine with tempered steel.
There is so little time.
Oh, how tired the bodyHome to the searching mind.Is there no rest in eternity?
John, we were told that life is everlasting. It is a universe of no retire.