It Is Not A Garment I Cast

I Sit Between My Brother The Mountain And My Sister The Sea. We Three Are One In Loneliness, And The Love That Binds Us Together Is Deep And Strong And Strange.

Yes, There Is A Nirvanah; It Is Leading Your Sheep To A Green Pasture, And In Putting Your Child To Sleep, And In Writing The Last Line Of Your Poem

If I Could Take Your Troubles I Would Toss Them Into The Sea, But All These Things I'm Finding Are Impossible For Me. I Cannot Build A Mountain Or Catch A Rainbow Fair, But Let Me Be What I Know Best, A Friend That Is Always There.

Like Sheaves Of Corn It Gathers You Unto Itself. It Threshes You To Make You Naked. It Sifts You To Free You From Your Husks. It Grinds You To Whiteness. It Kneads You Until You Are Pliant. And Then It Assigns You To Its Sacred Fire, That You May Become Sacred Bread For God's Sacred Feast. All These Things Shall Love Do Unto You That You May Know The Secrets Of Your Heart, And In That Knowledge Become A Fragment Of Life's Heart.

Life Without Love Is Like A Tree Without Blossoms Or Fruit.” “love Has No Other Desire But To Fulfill Itself. To Melt And Be Like A Running Brook That Sings Its Melody To The Night. To Wake At Dawn With A Winged Heart And Give Thanks For Another Day Of Loving