Then I watch the lighting dancing across the sky
as the fluttering birds rumble as winds and fly,
A piety: the child is the father of the man;
Of whom I dance to the wailin' chirps of the birds' can.
The windows flung open like myths in winter'
Blue star smile as ' heart beats of a sprinter:
That feelings when I grow up; to be a child
Like the grave moon above the silent night mild.
Of winter breeze that echo with flying trees
And of rumpled leaves buried on winter trees;
So is my heart when the stars dance as charmin' beads,
The star is a god that makes sweet lovely bids.
When I hear the wailing chirps of the birds
The moon murmur beneath her breath to the birds:
A piety: the child is the father of the man;
Of whom I dance to the wailin' chirps of the birds' can.
When I hear the mystic sound and the blue stars
My heart kicks as balls in the snow; awe fear bars;
A piety: the child is the father of the man;
A natural piety of whom I'll dance' can.
"words from the innocent mind"
Philip Peace