The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling.
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

-W.Shakespeare

Thursday, 6 September 2012

The Wild, We Wonder, We Wander

Mother's touch and Man's hand
Have left their mark upon
Blank slates of newborn land.
Makers and Shapers long gone

And we wonder
How we wander
Without blunder
Into splendor.

The path is cut
And rivers flow
Our voyage strut
To El Dorado.

We are men made wealthy
As nature is healthy.
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