In the land of Cantobria,
rainbows wreathe
well-watered pastures,
hovering within reach,
touching west and east,
beckoning us beneath.
For there is magic
under their mystic light
appearing ever so near
to our earthly plight.
Tread barefoot, softly,
upon the glistening grass
to where its beams end (or begin).
Hold to that holy ground
where wave and particle meet.
Feel a subtle shift:
a lightness, a sense of lift.
Therein lies the secret, you suppose:
of separate colors within the same light,
of that ephemeral arc guiding every life.
What the rainbow already knows*,
will at once become your own insight.
- Carsten Sprotte
The final rhyme "suppose and knows" is a tribute to Robert Frost.