Oh, tell me good stranger the outcome of time,
When one solitary sign might feel inclined
To wonder about life in all of its travail,
Is it true a compassionate soul is virtue.
Or are we perhaps a mockery of our time,
Imagining only the fantasy of the mind.
How often do we find ourselves, seek
True detail of a life’s personal outpourings
I stood behind an oasis of fear for a year,
Each opportunity to run crested by waves
Of discontent, the atmosphere so slick,
I imagined only the word storms present.
In knowing a solo follow is enchantment,
Seek a stranger’s road wise enlightenment.