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Strangers came and scorned his joy
With ridicule and banter they tried to destroy
What in their minds was a skillful play
With cruel darts they tried to plunder
To suffocate and strangle his innocent wonder
Fighting hard, despite their blunder
Again and again to steal his thunder
Despite their attacks, they could not break
With all their barbs they could not take
God's gift of love, which they could not fake
Not knowing his strength or what he sought to seek
They complained aloud and called him a freak
But the mysterious force just kept its hold
Magical child grew brave and bold
Diving deep into his soul
In exquisite ecstasy he discovered his role
In his Self was infinite scope
This mysterious force was mankind's hope
Piercing through that mask of Being
In that silence beyond all seeing
Was a field with a different story
A field of power, of awesome glory
With other children, if unfurled
Its tidal wave would change the world
Magical child was ready to bow
Sow the seed, pick up the plough
With effortless ease, without a sigh
Without a tear, without a cry
With silent perfection
Under God's direction
To sing together as one race
Stem the tide, transform this place
Magical children, don't worry how
Don't delay, this moment's now.
Mark of the Ancients
He had lived in the desert all his life, but for me it was all new. "See that footprint in the sand?" he
asked, pointing to a spot by the cliff. I looked as close as I could. "No, I don't see anything."
"That's just the point." He laughed. "Where you can't see a print, that's where the Ancient Ones
walked."
We went on a little farther, and he pointed to an opening, high up on the sandstone wall. "See that
house up there?" he asked. I squinted hard. "There's nothing to see."
"You're a good student." He smiled. "Where there's no roof or chimney, that's where the Ancient
Ones are most likely to have lived."
We rounded a bend, and before us was spread a fabulous sight -- thousands upon thousands of
desert flowers in bloom. "Can you see any missing?" he asked me. I shook my head. "It's just wave
after wave of loveliness."
"Yes," he said in a low voice. "Where nothing is missing, that's where the Ancient Ones harvested
the most."
I thought about all this, about how generations had once lived in harmony with the earth, leaving
no marks to scar the places they inhabited. At camp that night I said, "You left out one thing."
"What's that?" he asked.
"Where are the Ancient Ones buried?"
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