I seem to recall something.
What it is isn't exactly clear.
I don't know that it's far.
I'm not sure if it's near.

I was somewhere.
I don't know if was here,
I'm not sure if it was there.
Perhaps you were with me.

If we were together,
I'd recognize you again.

We'd say something new.
Of that I'm sure.

As seasons come and seasons go;
Like an acorn breaking through;
The steps to the Sun at first
Are very, very hard.

The Earth is so dense.
But once into the air,
The fresh clean air;
And the rains water
The roots

Growth becomes easier and easier.
And the sapling becomes a tree.
Soon to be a mighty oak.
Stately and all.

A pride of forest
To see.

Glory be to God.

John Stefan Riccio