No need of wings, the spirit fled,
Among the trees, fields, and cityscapes, it treads.
Purpose-filled yet not in haste, it pursued its cause.
For though God’s own mission direct, vibrant purpose carved inner laws.
The babe met in a cradle secure,
Yawning, stretching, a life waiting to endure.
To baby eyes, the spirit could appear,
A friend, a counselor, a fairy-dear.
Many bright bird-song mornings the child and spirit engaged
In playful loving God’s glory; His beauty always amazed.
Night brought comfort as both would snuggle safe together,
Dreams mere echoes of enchantments in every weather.
Toddler, child, and youth behold,
Growing at a gallop, burned fingers, singed feelings, needs must scold.
From halting steps to pounding pace,
The spirit hurried in their race.
Aware of sadness creeping in,
Distance, abruptness, flaming cheeks, mind’s worst din.
Though at his side, the spirit stayed,
The youth no longer notice paid.
Invisible and alone.
No seasonable music played, rather discontent, discord grown.
Guard it would, though guide it should.
Insistent, irreverent, the man on his own stood.
Mighty and wonderful are the works of God.
But business, industry, and human achievements do men applaud.
Yet still, the spirit stayed close at his side.
Own mission broken would not abide.
Silent, secret, a friend in truth.
No less faithful to man or youth.
Time ran by and years mingled,
Warning bells rang and rumors tingled.
Aching joints and slowed pace,
No longer running, long-lost the race.
Men age in youth reverse.
A spirit’s blessing, a human curse.
As he sat on a bench wood encased,
The spirit trembled close, no longer chased
With eyes now dim and hearing slight,
Perceptions strengthened in spiritual might.
Once again united, the man and spirit in companionship found,
The breath of God’s blessings safe and sound.
Poetry is not dead, as long as hearts are alive.