A gift is fragrance out of breath
fled from the abode of the urn
seeking respite of a wayfaring vessel
within whom, it makes its return.
Be not daunted, open the cover,
Draw deeply from spirits fathomless well
Oh, water bearer for the soul of dry parchment,
A river of words erodes the truth a mountain can tell.
Lo, winds of wisdom for the seeking leaf
Softly turn its empty pages
Stir them not, but deliver the stillness
Spoken through the love of inner sages.
Leap not, be gently drawn
Oh, sojourner, not so soon,
Soft, the precipice waits for you to cast
From the abode of your own perfume.
Those who give, journey on
Deep in the heart of others who are given
And when the page seems dark, find the spark
When the flint of the lover strikes the Beloveds frizzen.