Abe V. Rotor
Like a river reaching for the sea,
True beauty is brief to behold;
If it rushes will lose its beauty;
It meanders, in dying it is awed.
Through these rocks I see a fisherman
Standing at the edge of the sea;
Imagining myself in his place, I am
With my Creator full of life and free.
To the artist Nature is all beautiful,
From a sleeping child to a raging bull;
Freshness in the moon, new or full,
And in all colors, warm and cool.
Would the pious take the less trodden
Of two roads leading to but one end?
But little faith does not make a saint
No matter which road he would take.
Learn from the river through the ages,
The lowly ant, spider or stork
Kingdoms, monuments, and caves
They make; patience is silence at work.
A tenth of our brain is all we use
In a lifetime; the rest we save;
Yet it spurs us to reach for the stars
Or drives us early to our grave.
Flowers in the wild when in bloom,
Dare we to say they are wild?
They bring beauty to fill the room,
That makes our character mild.