How a dry paper written on
Draws spring out of
Morning flowers;
How the night settles
Like that leaf which falls alone
Upon itself;
How changes the sky every night—
And the heart,
Of man beneath it
How that which once
Enough had seemed
Ever after falls short,
Of everything.
Who decides for whom—
Who rules and fixes
Thin glass on fire;
There is only one way for faith
In which all have faith in—
The way which forever breaks
To a place which never has been...
