Night past night, down the endless starry river;
We watch for any change, but do not see
The tiny metaphor that is to be
The lightning spark that makes the unmoving shiver.
When constellations seemed transfixed forever,
A seedling grew and died in a desert sea
Above in the trees, the birds are calling and replying,
Their lively laughter moving the gentle evening air,
The wrens gaily singing, the doves with quiet sighs.
On the ground below a chick, thrown from the nest, is crying,
Their gleanings were given to the stronger yo...