He rode the wind till its heart changed, and then another to end the same.
And when he reached he turned to sit, but saw his prints and then it hit.
The road had gone houses no where, the desert sand could not impair/
He searched his mind his cup now filled, then these four thoughts became his will.
His feet in sand with mind astray, till throat was wet did once he lay.
His mind was there never awake, only to climb the test of faith.
The thought of luck a tool to fail, but with no map this man prevailed.
He saw no hills no mountains came, all were none but part of the game.
Now these four thoughts brought him to sit, At last he knew how to get it!
>Poem made by Kwame, given to me since 2005<