Freemasonry is a sense of life, a philosophy, a way of thinking. This is evidenced by a poem about it.
I turned 75
I am seventy-five years old,
I am not an apprentice, not a fellowcraft, anymore.
I am a master, as everyone told.
Heaven knows I have done my chore.
The sun doesn’t rise for me, the moon is shining over my head
I ate most of my bread.
Seventy-five years old I am
This number is a cruel fact, not a flam.
My plan was: do right as a high life.
Now beyond most of my life,
I would share a secret.
Maybe It was no secret, although:
In the beginning, marked the rough stone,
I wish to polish smooth,
to reach my old youth.
Square and compasses guided my hand,
I wanted, a new perfect church to build,
which man has never created, which to forever stand.
Secretly, my spirit, my ghost shone high.
I wish to reach up to the sky.
In my life, I avoided the awards and recognition,
It is far from me, this ambition.
I don’t even feel lacking for it all,
At my age, even more than before.
Because the surrounding love compensates.
I opened all my gates, who with pleasure waits,
The true payment for me is love,
as the fraternally feeling high above.
Knowledge transfer is driven, to help,
I think you don’t owe me, man, you owe yourself.
My brothers, please decide if the stone is polished enough
There is nobody to state it is my bluff:
Was the consensus really between us?