Creation

New worlds derive their pomp From thoughts quite fresh and new From stones and bricks a world Was neither built nor grew.

The firm resolve of those, Who depths of self explore, Transforms this stream to sea That has no marge or shore.

The fellow same is lord Of freaks of fate and strife, Who with eʹery breath he draws Creates an eternal life.

The death of self has made The lands of East effete: Men who Godʹs secrets share In these realms are deplete.

The air of waste gives out The smell of friendship deep Perhaps there may be some Who may my company keep.