Foreign Air

Falling out of shadows, into the light
where all is seen and nothing hides,
where all is known like an open sky
with parting clouds and rolling sights:

the shades of generations’ past,
still haunting with a half-filled glass
to say those things which prayers ask,
shall fail to be fulfilled at last;

yet sweeter scenes unfold by grace
to wash away the shades and place
a garland ‘round the neck to trace
a smile from crown to chest to face.

Those hermit days have served their time
in hiding well what could not shine,
but from the cave the crawlers climb
to highest heights and sighs sublime:

an open field, unknown to man,
above the plain and simple plans
of vain ambition, called to stand
the test of time with eternal hands;

not bound by worries or worldly cares,
where always there’s enough to share,
the flowers free and flying fair
while flowing far in foreign air.