Though bugs do not leap up and yell
They know death came close by
Though impossible to tell
I think I saw one's mothet cry
               Their thanks is silent

Though you not met the farmer
Know he's grateful as is the cow
He warmed his hamds not to alarm her
You bought his milk and how
               Their passion's violent

Though I send no gift but words
Know them to be sincere
Would I could fly with birds
And whisper this poem to your ear,
                You are magnificent.