Walk In Beauty

Impressions in the sand
left by my feet as I wander
’twixt my mother the sea
and my mother the earth

Smooth before me the strand
and smooth behind. I ponder:
Shall anything remain of me?
Have I any worth?

Ocean speaks but with the roar
of patterns woven oft before.
Land is mute, yet eloquent;
to Spirit both are monument.

“Man-child,” say my mothers two,
“thou hast naught but one duty.
Let Spirit move and speak through you.
Thus always shalt thou walk in beauty.”