Excelsior

The world, delighted by the dancing flame

Will burn itself to keep the flame alight;

So I by chasing after fickle fame

Consume the very source of my delight.

In seeking ever to become my best

I lose sight of the good I was already;

And in the striving I forget to rest

Imperiling the sense that made me steady.

I should, in conscience, sit and look around

Observing how my life is warm and sweet

Instead, I gaze at mountains that surround

Imagining myself down at their feet.

But in the valleys lie the riverbeds

Not at the mountains flame-erupting heads.