Morning began as oft it will
With shimmering dew upon the grass
The smell was sweet with no decay-
A wonderful way to start a day.
Without another thought in mind
I planned to take a joy filled hike
Along the ridge and up the hill
Until I reached its topmost height
Where I could see what lay below
And revel in a broadened view
That might reveal the way I walked
And all the places I could go.
But halfway up I saw a path
Meandering to a lovely glen,
Hedged by flowers all around,
A quiet pond upon its end.
Lilies bloomed there pink and gold,
And woven in its grassy plot,
Like children playing hide and seek,
Were pretty blue forget-me-nots.
I took that path and settled down
Inside a spot that I found.
And from my pocket I grabbed a pen
With paper scraps I carried then
Of a half-done poem that would not yield
The sense of passions I could feel.
As word by word my poem took shape,
Through minute gaps, the hours flowed.
Though incomplete, as it grew late,
I stopped my work and rose to go.
But since the light had now grown dim,
There was no use in pushing on;
Afraid that I might lose my way,
I walked to where I had begun.
I never reached that summer peak
Nor saw the earth from eagles’ eyes;
I made that trade with no complaints,
And would gladly do the same again.
But now that night is closing in,
And winds from distant heights still blow,
I wonder what there might have been
On all those paths I did not go.
- Finding the Light of G‑d, pages 152-153