He softly walks the forest of his mind
Each bole the storehouse of his threaded thought
The leaves and branches supple, intertwined
His life full laid upon what he’d been taught
He rests beside the freely flowing brook
Each pebble washed to brilliant diamond shine
The dancing light to him an open book
The air upon his tongue like new made wine
The evening light grows dim and day’s events
Are catalogued and filed as bird calls cease
He lights a lamp and knows without pretense
That at the end of day he is at peace