Thursday, May 8, 2008

To You



To You, emblazoned in the gaze of an impossible sun,
Mirrors fragile in every blade of grass,
Aloft in the flight of a fragrant east wind
That blows through mountains of white and blue.
It's true, in the billows of the foamy sea,
Puppet in obedient dance below moon strings,
In the eyes of the swift eagle, gold and taloned,
Or the elusive hare darting to its holed haven.
And even, when man is born with a heart far
From the desire of sweet river water poured
For them the chosen parched, still to You, it's true,
Is the love softer than a limp rose bowed.

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