Not ready for the garden of joy

Many in formal taste
Stand in line
Making haste.

The luminous glow
Does not show
What is ours to know
For ours to low.

I know not whether
I'll make it through,
But I stand in line
At the end of the queue,
In circles do run many pages
For us to sumptuously cross stages.

The hour has come to see the wilderness
Was it then needed that our formal tresses
That needed no trimming in this vast jungle
Come and show us that we would not bungle;
The order goes on, I'm no more last,
Out into the gardens I make it fast.