Tracing the path to which I aim

To trace the line of which I am

In search of gold, a rare refrain

A touch of or to ease my pain.

To brighten roads in which I pause

When seeking lines of horizon

Placing my feet in grains of sand

I take the pose to feel the heat.

When clouds at night in their dark dens

Will guide us to the source of light

When clouds at night ink in their pens

Will write us through morning delight.