Like Smoke In The Room You Are Out Of View
Like smoke in the room you are out of view. With a humble heart I will pray for you. Your oatmeal image feeds my soul, You are my helper, my friend and all. The world is sown with the solar flame The holy truth has got no name. The sand of the dream is keeping time, You've added new grains to the sublime. Words are growing on the arable plot, The green feather-grass is mixed with thought. On solid muscles of raised up hands The sound erects white churches in lands. The souls are delighted in trampling your glow And seeing your steps on the recent snow. But self-abasement and faded zeal Of those dropped off are lovelier still.