Search Endlessly For This Truth Divine Poem by Mark Heathcote

Ghostly, are blossoms conjured?
Swirling paths are remembered.

On these petals, shall we tread?
Rise as though they never shed.

On their pink ribbons, shall we glide?
As angels, only the child espied:

As cherry blossoms - so many spent.
Shall we dance as they did ascent?
 
Oh, the majesty and the grace to ponder
The orchard and his sacred acre.
 
Oh, what's there to be afraid of?
To be as like the petals cast off.
 
To be one with this stream of life
Take wonderment for a wife.
 
Take that lead of the root and vine.
Search endlessly for this truth, divine.