A hundred years will go to praise,
Her eyes and on her countenance gaze.

Two hundred more in her arms to rest,
A hundred just for true love blessed.

A time at least for every part,
Throughout all time she owns my heart.

We are the rumbling earth,
churning from a volcanic soul;
the eruption that leaves a
crater and the ash rising from
the molten fire below.

I am the one beside
me whom at times
I manage to visit,
and whom at times
I forsake; gentle and
forgiving when I am
love, and walking in my
place when I am hate.

He long survives, who lives with unspent grace,
   untamed desires wrapped in it's loving embrace.

Destinations once lost now quietly awaken,
   anger crumbles to dust and fears forsaken.

His light guides the way making all things well,
   illuminating the abyss in which he almost fell.

That light once dim growing increasingly dull,
   now luminous, bright, a light pure as snow.

To what purpose, Fall, do you return again
    with sky tints turned to gray and mellow hues.
Trees once full and vibrant now dressed bare
    and grasses turning the ground modest yellow.
Think not of Autumn as a time of solemn days,
    but of nature preparing to begin life renewed.

Come forth, oh my soul,
let rest from the tempest
storm. Once loud the
approaching drums, now
airs still from love's kiss
under rain-fresh skies.

The strong autumn wind
frees me, moves me, like
the river that carries
a twig. The trees bow
their heads and the
leaves hang trembling
as my soul is swept
away in its grandeur.