By RAHN ADAMS
It’s time to come together / wherever and whenever we can / to save what is left / of this once sacred institution.
Our chosen paths diverged / years ago in this yellow wood, / where we had walked / no matter what the weather.
Our focus was different — / yours, on the ground underfoot; / mine, on the rise and fall / of the hard road ahead.
Now, in retrospect, / we did see things the same way, / though your persistent pace slowed / as mine quickened.
But two paths can converge, / when things once hidden / rise to be seen / in the light falling through the trees.