Many Whispers of the Night.
Many Days of Living Words.
Much Breath needing to be fathomed,
for destination the Heart moves towards.
So, land to land the Heart does go.
From place to place it listens.
Setting out on its venture to find? ...
Why, to find itself the mission!
So, up and down those hills, those valleys,
with mind swirling 'round and 'round.
The Heart again sits at Day's end,
again asks Day what has been found.
And, from Day the simple answer comes.
Awakens always with each new morn.
Sings out with sun, clouds, shower,
with grass, trees, fields of corn.
'New day, new life! O cannot you hear, see
that dog's bark, that winging Mourning Dove? '
'These things your Earth it freely gives to you, '...
'Tis your Breath, your Soul, ...your Love.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem