Singing at the center of your soul, Long may you dance across your inner stage, Regarding neither rectitude nor rage, Pursuing neither destiny nor goal.  Suffering is nothing but the road: You, the traveler, are sheer delight, A little wisp of lovely, lilting light Torn from a joy that pain cannot corrode.  Be, then, whatever person time will tell. Do what reason and the heart deem good. Take whatever will or fortune would, Always west of heaven, east of hell.  Within, you are more beautiful than you Can ever comprehend, though you can feel A wonder and a passion that are real, Wandering like a wind through what you do. Nicholas Gordon