Lady Hill wears a dress woven of lichen and grasses
Waving glad with limbs of wind-blown trees to each who passes,
Grandfather Valley returns your greeting with echoed call
While with ancient sloping arms he reaches, embracing all,
Your brother, the rolling Plain, his hair wet with morning dew
Reclines amidst the rabbit-holes, promising something new,
Friend River surges laughing at tadpoles, their comic style
One of countless wild jokes which live, breathe, and dance without guile,
Tribes of toads together take up the chant they all know well
While fam’lies of crickets sing of secrets they have to tell,
And Old Mountain’s granite grimace becomes a sort of smile
As the clouds that crown him blush, bright King Sol setting meanwhile,
When all these wonders you are promised, and even more shown,
How canst thou, O weary traveler, ever feel alone?

Never allow someone to be your priority while you're just their option.

I was around fifteen
when I first imagined
myself as your husband
and I distinctly remember
Laughing and tearing up,
just a little,
because I didn’t think it
was possible
for someone like you
to love someone like me.
I did not know how to love...
but there we were
genuinely happy
and in love,
adrift in the aether of
my teenage imagination,
your face was hidden from me.
I return the comfort
of that fantasy and
conjure scenes of our life together.
Spending time with you
comforts me and gives me peace.
Wherever you are, please
know that I love you
and that I am looking for you.
Darling, you are literally my fantasy
and I will not rest until
our love is our reality.    
I cannot wait to meet you.
Have a great day, Love.  
I can’t wait to hear about it!
Yours.
Always.

The monk sat in his temple
Swathed in his saffron robe
While incense wafted through the air
Somewhere a gong could be heard, in the distance
Pristine, austere, noble
With all the trappings of wisdom
With the aura of enlightenment
With the odor of sanctity
With the nobility of humility
And the pilgrim asked him, are you poor?
“No,” said the monk
“For I desire nothing,
Cling to nothing
Long for nothing,
And so I am free,
Even rich
As though I possessed
The whole world.”

Francis sat in the dust
Covered in a beggar’s rags
While the scent of sewage lingered near
The coughing of the poor was heard, all round
*****, abject, neglected
With all the trappings of homelessness
With the aura of his friends, the sick
With the odor of his brothers, the abandoned
Having forsaken nobility for humility
And the pilgrim asked him, are you poor?
“No,” smiled Francis
“For I have found Him whom I desire,
I have cleaved fast to Him,
I am filled by Him,
And so I am free,
Even rich
For I do not need the world
When I embrace its Master.”

O Counsel! Now I am bound to withdraw,
I must - for there is no prudent rhyme or
Melody that I might compose, save awe
Or list’ning silence, unless to the door
You lead me, and open it as well, for
Guidance and discerning are yours, and none
save you directing has e’er glory won.

O Counsel! I may distinguish right from
Left, but no more; to mark right from wrong, such
Judgement belongs to thee. Life’s very drum
Beats in or out of tune, little or much,
According to thy reckoning; your touch
Is my rule, for whate’er song the world sings,
Thou alone art the measure of all things.

O Counsel! Hear me, and to me descend!
Sweet Prudence! Guard against folly and fad!
Good Judgement, on whom I wholly depend!
Decisions without thee are all but mad,
The path which follows thee is sweet and glad!
Advisor, as discreet as thou art great,
Whoe’er seeks thy word second, asks too late!

O Piety! O enlightenment true!
O humbler of the haughty heart! The head
Of prideful man bows low in awe when you
Address him to the Giver of the Bread
Which is called daily; true Reverence is shed
Like light upon the soul, and darkness flees
When poor man your humble majesty sees!

O Piety! You teach the timid to
Rise and cry “Father!” When rebels arise
With clamorous shouts to overthrow, you
Teach them to fall, not daring to raise eyes
To Heaven, and pay homage with great sighs
Of contrition to their Lord and King! It
Is by thine aid for prayer man is made fit!

O Piety! Come, devotion inspire,
Let fall down our faces sweet holy tears,
Fan into a furnace our inner fire!
Fill us with that love which casts out all fears,
Attune to the voice of the Lord our ears!
To us who ask for direction you say -
“Kneel, as though you knew to Whom you dare pray!”