Retreat Center, Lipa, Batangas
One sweep of the magic wand
By the hand that drives the wheel,
That makes chips out of raw sand
While time flies, is never still.
Spring is when birds sing, when bloom
The cherry, when it's time to wake;
Long are the days away from gloom -
To beauty, the views they make.
Through the window of a high rise,
Poor is the sight, sad is the song;
To nature before its demise,
Like gem lying deep unknown.
Seasons seep in and swiftly go
Across the forest, over the reef;
Through the veil of the window
Creation's wonder is brief.
Abstract figures crowd the mind,
Painting imagery anew;
And leaving the old behind,
While a new world comes to view. ~