Wayfarer’s sprit
runs in our veins
as once we were.
Our days are pregnant
with perpetual issues,
we push and pull,
inspire one another.
We rise as beads of
purity, glee, navigating celestial beings,
our dreams.  We celebrate our eventual
descending, our destiny, for what we are.
We go back to the shore of our past,
where we overlooked the glitters,
long ago in spring haze,
search for them to no avail,
fret on the deceitful shore
mixing the gems in the pebbles,
tuck them into her bosom, lest
capricious waves steal them.
We go back  to the shore again until
we can reclaim what we lost,
surprised to see another gems
basking in the sun, camouflaged–
we take them home.

by Byung A. Fallgren