© Charles E. Corry 1964, 1999

Come, through the myriad eyes of time,

Let us gaze on multitudes of random faces.

Poke listlessly among ash old worlds,

Where friend and foe alike have perished

For concepts whose meaning has now gone.

Peer curiously into young new worlds,

Where children laugh, and trees

Lift to greet the morning sun

Before the fall of woodsman's hand.


Come, along divergent paths of being,

Let us wander into crevices too deep,

Or scale cliffs too sheer to watch,

Abstracted, the topple, fall, and stop.

Let us wander through pine forest,

To baked sun desert with whippoorwills for harmony.

Stand in streams until rocks

Of progress surround us, then run laughing

Until nowhere joins us in company.


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