Beside the stream
of eternity, the long cliffs
march into the unknown;
Every rock and pebble sings
Thunderous and wild.

Within the forest of time
On branches of moss and ivy
Sits the old ancient owl;
Waiting for the small quiver
Of a mouse in hazy moonshadow.

Beyond the gardens of stars
An emptiness quakes and yearns
For flowers to be born
For mountains to break and bleed
And sing and cry.