Saints Bowing in Mountains
I think not, my dear.
For as you talk...
I see great parades with wildly colorful bands
Streaming from your mind and heart,
Carrying wonderful and secret messages
To every corner of this world.
I see saints bowing in the mountains
Hundreds of miles away
To the wonder of sounds
That break into light
From your most common words.
Speak to me of your mother,
Your cousins and your friends.
Tell me of squirrels and birds you know.
Awaken your legion of nightingales—
Let them soar wild and free in the sky...
Do you know how beautiful you are?
I think not, my dear,
Could set you upon a Stage
And worship you forever!