The man with moonlight in his hand
Has nothing there at all
The priest is surely right
Don Quixote Wetheral

But the view is whitelight glowing
Radiates my soul
I rest and keep unknowing
Don't think. Just look. Behold!

The heavens hallow holy
The church. The grass. The deer.
When I die, grassy knolly
Whisper in her ear:

               Aqui. Aqui.
        He loved you hear.