O my restless soul, be still.
The world is yet before thee,
And there are many hills between you and that mountain.
In your eagerness to climb
Forget not to treasure the hills at hand.
For who can say when now transforms to then?
To seize the summit and embrace the sight at last
Is naught if the journey is forgotten.
Let not your first look upon these lowlands
Be over your shoulder from yonder summit.
O be still, my restless soul, be still.
For things seem beautiful from afar
And flaws disappear in the distance.
Perhaps when you stand on that peak
These humble hills would be more preferred.
For who can say when hope turns into disappointment?
~ Naomi Melson, 2009Labels: poem, reflections