A word may come as we take a look,
Perhaps of surrounds, atmosphere or book,
That can surmise the entire chapter,
Or place us aloft in worldy rapture.
Yet to inscribe the script upon the page,
Does at once ourself to age,
For when as young doves we flew free,
We may now search environs painstakingly.
But there be times that it be sure,
The symbols and sonnets flow through our door,
And love does grant us the liberty,
That forever more the word shall be.
I love this one! It is so true. Mary
i like this a lot, made me feel good, like the O.E.