There is a voice
That goes on softer air than wind
Into the lily's horn
Out to the tip of arm-crossed bows
It is no fool of the tongue
Or language and it's weepings
No, it speaks, moves, mimes and spits
All the fibers of the human clothe
That do stretch far
In brocade and gingham, silk and yarn
And to the deepest down particle -
Shakes to make and atom breathe
Is there a place where it stops
To listen to things that grow and tremble
And when they fall too quiet to hear
Does it stoop
There is no taming of its song
Oh not the gentle wildness that always
Turns and twists into every placid corner
To form a flash where beauty lives
And pulls every good and perfect
With every bad and broken
Into the everlasting melody
