Treasure is my grand-babe, feeling his quiet breathing
Soft hope content he knows not yet is.
And I am reassured my past now free
From my desire I cling while I let go while I striding my remaining pitted path.
Where am I left behind while my I am crumbles… even with treasure joyous remnant now along?
I will ponder and drink this abundance
My past, my knowledge, my I am, now is as Papa Bill abides
Marvelous, wondrous, my hand anew some future treasure
Some Papa Bill will make some new fresh wider path.