At the end of the Rainbow,
Or so I've been told;
The reward of each searcher -
Is a pot, filled with gold.
I've dreamed through the years,
And had visions at night;
Of how to scale the distance,
With no stairway, in sight.
Tho I oft would grow weary,
As I laid plan and scheme;
The passion, etched in my sinews,
Was my ultimate dream.
Like the greed of a Midas,
I had played my own rule;
The roots kept growing deeper
As they captured my soul.
I looked up to the Rainbow,
And behold God's Holy vow;
It was a radiant golden promise,
Given to Noah and in vogue now,
Ah! The foolishness of mankind.
As they strive to leave the fold;
At the end of every Rainbow,
Every pot, o'erflows with gold.
-Elizabeth Wallace Morehead-
Copyright owned by the
Wallace and Morehead
families.
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