THE woodcutter’s axe begged for its handle from the tree.
The tree gave it.
IN my solitude of heart
I feel the sigh of this widowed evening
veiled with mist and rain.
is a wealth that comes from
abundance of love.
plays upon the heart of the hills
and brings out surprises of beauty.
WE read the world wrong
and say that it deceives us.
THE poet wind is out over the sea
and the forest to seek his own voice.
comes with the message
that God is not yet discouraged
THE grass seeks her crowd in the earth.
The tree seeks his solitude of the sky.
MAN barricades against himself.
YOUR voice, my friend,
wanders in my heart,
like the muffled sound of the sea
among these listening pines.