Isn't it plain those sheets of moss Except they have no tongues Could lecture all day If they wanted to About spiritual patience
Isn't it clear Those oaks along the path Are standing as though they are The most fragile of flowers
Every morning I walk like this around the pond Thinking if the doors of my heart ever close I'm as good as dead Every morning so far I'm alive
And now the crows break off from the rest of the darkness As though they have been thinking all night What they would like their lives to be And imagined their thick strong wings
