is there a place where all searching ends,
lit by the light that shines in all things;
under the silver that never begins,
and below the gold that never grows old?
is there a place where all fear is not here,
with a knowing that tells of all that may ever be known;
under the shade of the blossoming boughs,
in a beautiful garden where an apple tree grows?
is there a place that is full of bliss,
as clear as a stream on a high mountain cliff;
above all that the heavens have kissed,
and below all that lies under the blue vaulted sky?
did we walk in that place that is so full of grace,
and did we think it ever would end;
did we speak of only what true love could express
as we walked hand in hand in that garden of bliss?
and if we thought as we walked
and if those thoughts were sublime,
and our aim was as one with the all
and for all of the time;
if in that garden was made
all that we ever could need;
then tell me, why did we ever leave?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.