Oh would that I could,
give you my words, I would.
again and again if only I could.
but though at times my words thunder like the hoovs of a stampede
and their echoes rise like the dust that it leaves behind:

and Though at other times when they whisper like the breeze--like the froth atop the ocean
that you travel--They, they
Seldomly come hither when the shepherd whistles.