What do you see?
Is life a growing place?
Do dreams fade out of view,
Or stop, to dwell in grace?
Does every color run from gold to gray,
And night engorge the pointlessness of day?
Or do you see it still – the dream you grew –
In all the shapes and sizes borne of you?
I wish, my friend, with all that’s real in me,
That you could see the magic that I see,
The elegance of mind and heart and face
That guarantees the shrinking soul a quiet, growing place
But it is not in my words your way lies —
No – you must look, and see with your own eyes