Eventide

The sound of bells upon the breeze,
The countryside through which I’m going
And all the autumn-coloured trees
Are dripping with the light of knowing.

And everyone whose way I cross –
And be they from a made-up nation
Or else an undercover boss –
Is glowing with invigoration.

And every thought which comes to mind
And, likewise, every feeling
Is bright enough to nearly blind
The seeker to its source of healing.

And, though the sun has long since set,
Its joyful rays are shining, yet.

Photo by Anton Darius on Unsplash

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