This rain-soaked early morning,
We drove to a faraway sylvan hill.
We saw Mother in her temple,
Trees around to make our minds still.
In her discourse on full moon day,
She blessed her children everywhere.
She spoke of anger, will, and the way
To dissolve the mind, see grace and share.
Is this sylvan retreat merely stone,
What we heard, just another chant?
Or,
Will I let go of my thorny throne,
And let prayer evaporate my want?
Mother, I want to find the way.
Please help me. Come what may.
