Thirty-five is on a long plateau,
Hiking through deep woods and sun-drenched fields.
It is a lovely path he follows well,
Reading signs no alphabet can spell,
The wordless whispers that his woodcraft yields.
Yet he knows he still has far to go.
For him, the journey is the only end,
Intense and vivid, mystically at peace,
Vistas of the heart at every bend,
Echoes of the soul that never cease.