Eggshell sky, song of the unborn lark.
Dawn wind breathes of Heaven.
A daisy raises trustful face to the young sun.
Life unfolds green through dark, dead leaves.

Sunlight rippling through soft waves on shingle
Foxglove bells ringing, and so nearly heard
Secret song of the running river,
Gone before we can ever catch the words.

Spiders’ webs silver in the mist.
Trees flame in old sunset, slow-burning.
Copper leaves dance away,
Turning and returning.

Bare twigs and ivy, winter berry-bearer,
In the damp, deep wood.
Mistletoe, growing green between earth and heaven.
On the cold, starlit hillside,
In the deep, quiet earth,
Her Lord, and the rising sun and the running deer.
In the night of death,
A new birth.