The scent of incense lingers still
Upon my clothes and hair;
Both down the dale and up the hill,
It’s with me everywhere.

It’s true that no one needs to pray
Or else to meditate;
The light within you shines away,
And shall not dissipate.

But, if the train of life’s demands
Is rumbling through your head,
You could do worse than fold your hands
In reverence, instead;

Since that’s the shortest way by far
To who – or what – you truly are.

Photo by Daniel Thürler on Unsplash

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