The world is infinite variety
Sweet nature's hand is copious past words
The humblest twig is blessed with piety
The greatest psalm bows down to chorused birds.
While nature leads a merry dance with men
The wind whistles the names of fallen dreams,
We pick them up and gather them and then,
We throw them to the accident of schemes.
I hold my hand and beg for nature's bliss
I lie beneath the scaffold of all love
From tangled star to sacred serpent's kiss
I long to see through science from above.
I yearn to express magnitude but dumb,
Fall silent when by nature overcome.
No comments:
Post a Comment