The story may seem

To shift with the sands,

Yet the Sigh of existence

Can readily be tracked

Back to the beginning

Of an ancestral Path,

Three steps forward,

Perhaps a couple back,

But all the while,

The sanctity of the throughline

Treasured on a rope 

With tension taut:

Awe at the marvel

And forbearance at 

Every hindrance, trusting

That Jacob carries

A Ladder evermore,

The Moon a lantern

For the climb, though

To act as guide,

It has but one demand:

A better Sight,

With eyes of the Heart...