Come, dear friend.
Come let us trudge up the high mountains to drink from Hippocrene.
Lace up your boots quick and draw your hiking stick close.
Up we go to the place where muses refresh themselves.

Be ready for the bitter cold that the journey brings.
Fingers stiffened, teeth clattering from the frost that bites.
Cover your head with the warmer of humility.
For knowledge can sometimes be a cold that brings the ailment of pride.
One that keeps the fellow bedridden in the ward of stagnation.

Hold on!
We have reached the vault where the treasures of wisdom are stored.
Bring out your flashlight and read the inscription out loud,
"He who puts away his earthly bride will jump over the eternal broom"

Mystery indeed.
A sacrifice to gain entrance into the joyous presence of the eternal.
A sword to sever the gnarly ropes that holds one captive.
The password to unlock the vault where wreaths of gold await.

Come dear friend.
Come and let us beam our searchlight into the inspired sea of words.
Perhaps we would discover a treasure chest lying on the bed of papyrus.
A chest which contains the vial that gives everlasting life.
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