Forty-Nine

Forty-nine has found a truth to tell,
Opening an unexpected door.
Recognizing what she has to sell,
The proselyte prepares to tell it well,
Yearning to convey the silent core.
Nor could she find a task that offers more.
It's like fires lit from hill to hill,
Night spangled with what words ignite the will,
Each racing soul to soul from shore to shore.