Looming somewhere
In the shadow of yesterday—
Ever so near and yet so far—
There is, for each of us,
An all too familiar period
When a tiny spirit had just embarked
Upon an incredible journey
With many miles ahead.
What excitement:
The wonder of a little soul
With awe-inspired eyes.
The shape of tiny hands and feet.
The babbling of a tender, wee voice.
And all the advantages of innocence.
But where would such a journey lead
And what was to be encountered?
The end and exact sum of days
Was anyone’s guess.
Every aspect was concealed
Until spontaneously revealed—
One by one by one.
Each speck of detail was to slowly,
Respectively and painstakingly manifest
Only at its appointed time.
But looking back on all those miles
(So personal and endearing) ,
Encased in memories carefully tucked away
At the end of each day,
But readily accessible
For whatever time and purpose—
Be it twenty, forty or sixty years
Down the road—is priceless.
Life! What a journey.
And fortunate is the traveler,
Whose journey proves to be long, sweet
And gloriously intriguing to the very end.
Life Is A Sacred Pilgrimage (Prose)
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