I walk the gardens of my days where rav'nous weeds are few
and even they are dying as I pass.
But neither do the flowers bloom as bright. Still, they smell as sweet
and sweeter and as strong. There's comfort in not being seen.
So sit with me awhile and hear my tale of summers past
and fragrance lingers with you when you leave.
I walk the forests of my years where empty branches line
the lower parts of trees, where brown ones tinkling, fall.
The green ones sit aloft on piney bough. Still, dead ones form
a bed so soft and safe. There's comfort in not being new.
So lay with me awhile and feel safe in autumn rain
and such a rest rejuvenates your soul.
I walk the canyons of my life where earthquakes' tremblings passed
and served to form the ridge and grassy hill,
their jagged edges distant and obscure. Still, the path is smooth
and easier to trod. There's wisdom gained in being worn.
So walk with me awhile and eye mountains' winter coat
and contemplate your place within the world.
