The sun rises ...

The sun sets ... darkness follows day.

Each man is longing for a song, holding out his empty hand,

     wandering in a circle. reaching for a hand to lead,

     peering through the shadows.

     weeping  . . . while he plays.

     aching . . . while he hurries.

What holds the answer?
Just to understand and know why I am here,
      and where I am going . . . will give me roots which sink,
      grasping the fabric of each day.

What unknown plan called my soul from eternity's cradle,

      lifting me from gray shadows . . .
      to live this golden day?

Dallas Beth Williams Gibson written - 1968


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