If
it could be somehow quenched –
The
joy of the ‘backwards’ truth
That
thrills the little children of light
Why,
even the very stones would
Come
to life and celebrate
So
very near, so present, so everywhere
That
life which opens the lily by day
And
closes the daisy at night . . .
How
wonderful that everything
I
write is written for me
In me the life
Which speaks for him as it
will
*
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