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.”
Copyright © 1992, 2001 by Charles E. Galvin Jr. All rights reserved.
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