The Sea Of
Life
Life, this great sea
I
am cast within,
No shoreline I
can see
In this sea among
men.Waters so vast
Overwhelm
my soul.
In the sea I am
cast,
In the depths I
roll. How churns the waves
On
this sea so great.
My soul
understanding craves
Midst this
fearful state. 
The
SwallowsWhat a
joy it is to watch the
swallows gliding in the air at
evening time. How they dart and
flit ranging high into the air,
and then plummeting just overhead.
The swallows are experts at
catching mosquitoes, and are ever
at the close of day diligently
pursuing that task.They cut
corners in mid-air effortlessly
utilizing their triangular wings.
Happy, serene creatures they seem
to be skimming over the treetops.
Generally they fly four or five
together just above the treetops
along a little rivulet in a
secluded valley. The swallows
maneuver so easily and freely in
the air, and make it seem like
such fun. Somehow swallows seem
not quite real, but almost like
spirits or thoughts born of fancy,
or like the shadowy figures of a
dream. They seem so much a part of
the scene, adornments that belong
at that place at that time, that
we often do not take notice of
them. Flying in their peculiar
circles, swallows are entrancing
sights. They seem not quite of
earth, but inhabitants of the
heavens, at one with the clouds
and breezes, members of an angelic
band dancing in the
air.
Oh, To Soar Like The
Hawk
Oh, to soar like the
hawk! To range far into the sky,
and make my home among those
clouds he goes flying by. See him
gliding now, that master of the
air, who rides out the fiercest
gales with ease, and makes his
home on the peaks of clouds.His
huge wings take him miles with
ease, and grant him lord of the
sky, a sailing in the blue. See
him now motionless in the air, a
brown spot in all that vastness, a
lone symbol proclaiming life's
glory. The hawk rides the air
waves as ships ride the waves of
the sea. One moment he is just
overhead, and the next a mere
speck in the sky. Hear his
piercing whistle, his shrill call,
as it echoes from hill to
hill. The hawk is a free
creature. He is not tied to our
earth, or subjected to our
customs. He is not restricted to
our dusty and thorny pathways. The
hawk goes his own way, and is not
bounded by the hills as he knows
no boundaries save those of his
own indominable spirit. He flies
above our petty woes, and pays no
heed to our strife as he soars
above the noise and soot we live
amongst. His realm is that of the
clouds and the freshest air. The
winds that cool him are those
nearest the heavens. A glorious
experience would be seeing life as
he sees it. To be as the hawk is
our aspiration, and enjoy such
liberty.
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