Hands Make The World Each Day.

We The Mortals Touch The Metals, The Wind, The Ocean Shores, The Stones, Knowing They Will Go On, Inert Or Burning, And I Was Discovering, Naming All The These Things: It Was My Destiny To Love And Say Goodbye.

I Love All Things, Not Only The Grand But The Infinitely Small: Thimble, Spurs, Plates, Flower Vases.

And Our Problems Will Crumble Apart, The Soul / Blow Through Like A Wind, And Here Where We Live Will All Be Clean Again, With Fresh Bread On The Table.

Every Day You Play With The Light Of The Universe.

Oh To Follow The Road That Leads Away From Everything, Without Anguish, Death, Winter Waiting Along It With Their Eyes Open Through The Dew.