Wail naught for blisters found and labors wrought,
wail naught for them found on mind,
temptations net to capture favour’s trappings,
wail for those found on thine soul…
when a heart bears the sores that harden,
the stone outcroppings that hinder one
to sally forth and on, o’er the beyond be held
firm away from thine longing spirit…
scent of plenty unfelt, unbeknown.
Tell felicity her desired return shall soon
be bothered no more, found and born in
flashes of said merriment returned…
no dalliance is found in living,
where life is found in love and currents strong
to carry all whom turn aside the auguries
of doubt, the darkness of prophecies foretold.
The gates of joy welcome every fallen sparrow,
the day shines bright, the pith of happiness be
thine own, savor long the fardels man shall bear,
fear nothing… weary though this life become
and worry sweep thee from thou feet… turn
naught away from conscience, pale though it
be, face head-on the traveller thou call
thineself to be, the strength within thee
calls out for thou to continue on…
to make straight past dread of death,
concerns of despis’d love or to measures
taken and found unworthy.
Lift thine head to heaven… see the good we
do sets no timely scorns upon thy head…
knowest thou it be undiscover’d country
we seek… pause grants thee thine respect. 
Plume and ink 