Beside the winding path their lay a grove
of trees that nestled inside of its trove
was bounty that life would change to beauty
and would through its metamorphosis free
the little one from its callous cocoon
so it could fly up to the sun and moon
and learn the secrets of all space and time.
Teach me O wise one of air, hear the pine
that walks forth boldly from trembling lips;
soft lips that seek to tell of what we missed.
For none attain your stature, you alone
are crowned the Monarch upon the sky's throne.
You have mastered this Earth. You will fly
until the sad day that you too will die.
Yet death to you is naught but a false road
for in the eternal is your abode.
Teach me O Monarch, raise me from the sod;
teach me to turn from a worm into God.
I would go to the grove and be a lord of the air,
But somehow I doubt that the grove is still there.