Fine friends, you cannot Know, what shall come to be. So let us spill our stars instead, and moon-bathe o’er the sea.
Heed not, my loves, the promise, of a future clearly laid, for uncertainty creates a space, where a certain magic’s made.
Everything is possible, and much is but a dream, held by fragile seaweed threads, above the sacred stream.
Yet when you reach, with love, for that, which seems so far away, and when you strive, in faith, to be, your best self every day.
In truth, you are already there, yours, the promised land. Where camel through the eye of needle tread, by castles on the sand.
