I think continually of those who are truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history.
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns, endless and singing.
What is precious, is never to forget the essential delight of the blood drawn from the ageless springs breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.
Never to deny its pleasures in the morning's simple light
nor its grave evening demand for love.
Near the snow. Near the sun.
In the highest fields, see how these names are fated by the waving grass,
and by the streamers of white cloud,
and whispers of wind in the listening sky.
The names of those who in their lives fought for life;
who wore at their hearts a fire center.
Born of the sun, they traveled a short while towards the sun,
and left the vivid air signed of their honor.
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