how fresh the world was complex and still strange
as we crossed shark-filled seas with little thought
of what bright magics in the clouds were caught
or what the cities past the mountain range
would have for us instead we sought the grange
the country quiet where oldest rules were taught
in plainest movement from old is to ought
from then to now where all we did was change
into clear selves who know the middle way
by just refinement of that youthful choice
made all rejoicing under bluest sky
for we who learn the paths and tracks of day
know it's no simple thing to have a voice
and far more difficult to keep an eye