All our worries, all our woes,

Every single fear the living know,

Will grow until we shine our light

On the truer things of heart and mind.

 

Not how we feel, nor all we need,

But what is real, past that we see:

 

Why does the child seek joy in play?

Why do the birds sing their songs each day?

Even when the sky is grey,

Why does the sparrow boldly hark

A dawn that peace and hope embark?

Why does the sapling rise from the earth?

Does it reach for the gods, does it seek rebirth?

And why is one love unlike another

Whether sister or mother or father or brother?

Is the tender touch rich in one but not the other?