The Poet

HE walks with God upon the hills!
And sees, each morn, the world arise
New-bathed in light of paradise.
He hears the laughter of her rills,
Her melodies of many voices,
And greets her while his heart rejoices.
She, to his spirit undefiled,
Makes answer as a little child;
Unveiled before his eyes she stands,
And gives her secrets to his hands.

by Ina Coolbrith

Comments (1)

Amera, I like the poem very much, but if men are tubes, would that mean they glow? If you have time, I wrote a poem called, 'Disturbance' which dwells this subject slightly. Thanks, good day. Richard Jarboe