Our elders say that youthful Hope and ever-ageless Trust,
Created the blushing western sunset and pensive eastern dusk
Upon discovering their precious earth was but a stiffened trail
And their sky would never bear the rains nor sprinkle icy hail—
That they, in fact, were leading lives too focused on some goal—
Some two-dimensioned peaks to climb, colorless and cold…
So Hope matured into Ambition and Trust morphed into Faith
And our ancestors with ageless vim turned distance into space.
Today we toast their grand design and welcome humans to the feast
The task is heavy, we admit, to fill the chair of the deceased
But they have Ambition’s blood, and Faith’s hereditary traits
Every twilight they’re reminded with colorful displays:
That it’s not the peaks but the journey that does a rich life make
And a life emotionlessly lived is but a blankened skyslate.
