There is a golden green in this world,
That we may find by playing its chord.
An old man of many faces burled,
Watches those worthy of his great hoard.
We then squander and soon become blind,
As we lose our way to enthrall hearts.
We become giving of aught, then find,
We prove we are the sum of our parts.
Through experience and expression,
We hear a bellowing cry within.
From a dragon’s roar, comes the question,
Where one must go to express chagrin.
At our crossroads, we swear to ourselves,
A pact, where we find naught to appeal.
The sincere of heart may find themselves,
When words shall fail, the heart shall reveal.
© Sayer Teller