Without conflicted view, I kneel
where anxious paths converge,
it does not with singularity seal
each orison by its urge
and by its fill...
but I will
on uprooted whim by winded sail,
a lesson bought by the numinous,
and so obscure the cloistered trail
that few will find it's terminus,
except by skill...
but I will
in quaint refrain a word is wed
to opportune not oft at hand,
but premonition not so easily shed
for safe sojourn in hostile land
to sate ones quill...
but I will
John R Tarter
J