This is the sweet rehearsal of my thought,
These words are silent markers of my will.
I long to live, regain what I forgot,
And find my soul ablaze within me still.
Life burns, but who knows why we came to be?
I thought it was to love, strange then it seems
That those I seek to know fly fast from me,
And mock the fading hope I find in dreams.
Am I not warm and gentle, like the rain
That mists before our eyes in passing spring?
I fear I'll walk alone, that all is vain,
And all my hope no love or peace will bring.
And yet, since I may find her, I rehearse,
That she would feel Christ's love in my sweet verse.
Bolivar and San Martin: Guayaquil, Ecuador
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