When the morn dawns early and she ventures forth bravely through the cold and the dark with nothing more than trust in her path, and no more the false hope of sweet fruit;
When the stubborn fog of her nebulous mind lifts to the meteoric rise of the pivotal star, and she sees straight and listens deep;
When, riding the present with reverence and gratitude, she passes the haunting crossroads of doubt with gentle disinterest:
She’ll find him waiting by the road to turn her windows of devotion into doors of the otherworldly, where light will pervade all and cease her tireless search.
When the beads of her thirst turn into pearls of percipience, and she befriends the unknown;