All that can has come to pass.
Even that which people dread.
The predetermined struck in brass,
my faithful guide-dog guides ahead.
And forth it springs, a lively thing
takes paths meandering, too tight.
It tells all's well, a soothing ring,
but birds alone are born so light.
So on I chase, feet stiff and sore
my lead I follow wide awake;
Then I return, yanked from my snore
right to my hefty earthly aches;
lost deep amidst a crisis moral,
within the Soul – this hound won't bite.
The body sings in amorous choral,
blooms open for a Conscience flight.