Flowers do wilt and die
It seems pointless, yes
But have you seen a bud?
Open its sleepy eyes to the dawn

As if a young child was letting out a yawn
With petals for hands reaching out to open skies
And the sun smiled at it
Telling it to open its arms without worry

This little light of mine.
The one darkness cannot bind.
Guides me through the wilderness of shadow.

This little light of mine.
Oh, heavenly little shrine.
Little candle of inextinguishable flame.

This little light of mine.
The beacon to the skyline.
Call down my angel.

the leafless tree branches.
clouds drift in the pale sky
and the deer leave footprints
in the snow

and all flowers fade,
so, throw the dead flowers
across my grave

and with time
winter's wounds will heal
so spring can follow
when the river sheds its skin of ice
and the deer footprints turn to mud

and the earth forgets the cold.
sunlight kisses, the flowers sigh,
tulips bruised red,
for-get-me nots whisper,
daffodils linger.

the sunrise whispers anew
and trembling in sunlight
the green leaves wave

as the wind dances with newborn flowers
that for tell of the Grace.

O, my wild garden.

Look on my works, ye Mighty — and bring a broom;
the dust is winning,
and the curtain you thought was closing
was only the desert swallowing the stage.