How Can Your Heart Not Dance?
not much unlike the soaring-sound sight
that arises each morning, beckoning, calling—
the man joyed. It was like a word not sung before.
And from atop that peak there arose a call—
wait, can you hear it now?
Yes, yes! From somewhere (here it is! Aiai!) its joyful tones do fly—
from the sun, cutting through the dimly mapped mist of smog.
And there, a song reigns free.
Once upon a time there lived a small boy,