The Noble Soul of Man

Court Reinland

PureInsight | April 16, 2006


From the time he came into this world,

His fair skin wet with the milk of innocence morning dew

Though he could not yet dream of far off lands,

His traveled father knew

That though his eyes were warm and wet as spring perfume,

Life's crashing waves would wash him bare,

And it's long travailing weight would trade for him aching sorrow

For his once carefree care

It's ebbing tide would draw away

Every noble seeming thought

Until it's ceaseless churn

Would make of his once great dreams naught

But kindness filled his father's eyes

With hope he'd not forgot

That though a candle's fickle flame, in the slightest breeze does quiver

And the budding plumb likewise, in pouring rain does shiver

The font of every soul's lost longing faith,

It does still pour, like in times of old

Down like a mighty river

And in it's sweet and tireless grace can be laid

The aching body of a wounded soldier, tired

Or even a thief or beggar with debts still yet unpaid

For it's eye searches not of men,

As the world accounts their glory

It is neither close unto the rich,

Nor from the poor, far apart

Nay, for it searches out alone

For only a true and noble heart

So as he sat and watched his son

And held the hand of his sleeping wife

He knew that while his works were not so great

He not yet laid to close his life

There still is time; he'd seize the day!

And for his son, withhold not one

Until in sun-drenched fields he lay

"Not this life! I shall not give unto the devil's pallor gray!"

He clasped him tight against his chest

And he held his little hand

And as he looked with eyes of wonder,

He hoped that he would one day understand -

That within his tiny beating heart,

Lies the noble soul of man.

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