Heraclitus says that everything flows,
That all things resemble a flowing stream,
Shadows lost at night, the cry of a crow
Heard a few days ago in a brief dream.
After all's gone can anything be seen?
Is there something, anything, that remains?
At the end of our plans and all our schemes
Is there something leftover to attain?
Like a glowing rainbow after the rain,
Without name or form, hidden in the light,
There's an eternal presence free from stain
That shines within the darkest soul and deepest night.
The light of grace shines within the heart,
It is a presence from which we cannot depart.
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