The miracle of the warm wrung morning where the

before seen gold bathes the weeds in wonder

and the meadow lark sings high once out over

the farm fields to break a night of whole silence

Before the shovel rings or the door opens to the air

As though candlelit the night to

show the stars to bed before the shades are

drawn today

Before the power rung that sings the open world

God made the world quiet after all and gave men

mighty souls the room to grow–we–cage

them up in paltry prisons and let them break the

bars.