This is a wonderful poem I've come across at poetrysoup,
by David Smalling
(The poet has granted me permission to post it here)
The distant of our journey does not count Only the direction we take; Eagles keel upward in their mount The winds chose for the falling flake. And I, I set my face to the woods When I left my house; an inward trek Measuring my life by poles and roods, Never making enough from the weekly check; And all because there was so much to know And so many mysteries to understand Reading, rejecting, testing for a glow Of that eternity in the grain of sand. In the end I should have gone to sea All along, for I was the only mystery. I should have trusted faith against history, And took the outward direction on my journey. But here I am, and I cannot otherwise Now, abandon the benefits of my surprise. For all our acts are points of learning And all we learn comes by believing.
by DAVID SMALLING