Can you write the tapping rain,
Or the cool and quiet gray?
What you forgot, that’s yet to come,
Or the eloquent refrain
Of the wheels within wheels
That make a world, a year, a day?
I can’t write the strength of hands.
Nor can I write the truth of will,
Nor the broken point of being.
Words are not for barren lands
Once in the heart but slowly spreading.
Yet I can’t help trying to roll them up that hill.
From (A Loop Around The Sun, Vol. 1 )
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