Sing a song of rolling waves and gently rocking sky,
Of wheeling, gliding, swooping gulls and eyes that    
 watch them fly;
Of branches bare that clutch at clouds along the
 restless shore;
The rustling leaves, the sighing breeze, the waves
 that break once more.

Sing a song of pain reborn and rising from the tomb,
Of hands that test and probe and tear an ever widening
 wound;
Of black despair, of scarlet glare, the white of
 hinted peace,
The bilious green of bitterness; the wait for pain
 to cease.

Sing a song of gratitude that cannot be expressed,
Of words miscarried in deep pain to die with all the
 rest;
Of everything suffused within, around, beneath, above,
The constant yearning, aching void--the hunger to be
 loved.