Here there are no
hearts not touched by joy.
A star illumines all, who see or no.
Peace is like a pang across the plain,
Passing in a moment wrought with pain,
Yet echoing in places few can go,
Harbors hard to enter or destroy.
On those who love there is but little lost.
Love's an open door to life and death.
In seasons of great joy there is a strain
Dear to those whose efforts must maintain
A sense of some bright bourne beyond each breath.
Yet even those who calculate the cost
Still dance to more delight than they can
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon