When the wilderness beckons, and the mind, br Recalcitrant, struggles to obey: br This body hasn't anything substantial to say. br Only lines of verse can take them far, far away. br br To look onto the river and rocks: leave worries behind. br Listen to gurgling streams: to see ships afloat br In the distant horizon. I have travelled br Often and wondered often walking br On streets and bridges as rivers murmur br br Where does poetry begin? Why does the heart weep? br Are destiny's lines charted br And does change ever ensue? br How often, how often can one go wrong? br br My companions to this solitude: br This mind, this body, this verse.