When our lives become too strained, well beyond our controls,
In escaping to our sanctuaries, we find freedom for our souls.
Be it a simple hobby, painting pictures, or working in the garden,
Our minds take flight, leaving troubles behind, to find our pardon.
As the world turns around each day, revolving about our Father sun,
Each spirit goes about its common tasks until all the work is done.
With our Mother Earth, our own fine home, a solace here is found,
Amid sun-bathed meadows, leafy woods, nature's beauty abounds.
The unhappy notes within our songs may change with every mood,
A beautiful composition awaits us, happily adjusted in each prelude.
With emboldened strokes, to paint our own portraits, every masterpiece,
Revealed before the world and seen, as every attempt's embraced.
The potter's wheel so spins in turn, as hands fashion each presentation,
Crafted reflections of that held within, to be placed in rows, a procession.
Painted in colors of intricate designs, baked in ovens of highest degrees,
All a creation of greatest magnitude, so alike ourselves, each perceives.
We seek quiet solitude, there, sunny mornings and the wild geese do fly,
Those moon brightened nights, the only sound, as a whippoorwill to cry.
Escaping wrath of an unkind day or what seems failure, to our troubled minds,
There in the quietness true solitude does portray, we find a truth that binds.
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