soundofmanywaters

  Towards Bigger Poems “The mountains skip like lambs… the trees of the field clap their hands”   Immobilised, these mountains Have no heels for skipping But they dance in the swaying of their trees.   These sitkas, oaks and cedars Have no hands for clapping But the breezes shake their branches.   These branches have no song But they lift up the birds And carry their carols skywards.   But the birds have no words…   Here, little sisters, take mine. Let me be your librettist That your song may resound in me   That my song may be healed with Your ancient majesty, your green upwelling, Your swift-winged melody.   Then our dance and our applause, Our music and our meaning Will be offered in praise to the One   Whose party is just getting started…