The poet rang his soul quite through.
The awful blenders crank,
Twisting down, around, that spine,
Leaving the lines all blank.
Fear not! , he cried, in a jesters wit,
To all you watchers fare,
In realities grasp you will see,
That you are always there.
For Heaven or Earth shall be around,
And continue in its daily course,
For with you will, it shall be the one,
And with you not, will still be force.
Look up, look wide beyond the clouds,
See the castle in the air,
For if you will be, the one who sees,
Then pardon will find you there.
Ralph Peck
Photography by Marla Bolton
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