by Bill Donaghy
I have learned more
from the shine in a dewdrop
on the petal of a wildflower
than from man and all his theories
his grasping after power
I have read more in the falling leaves
That tumble, wilt, and bear new life
Than ever in the pages of man
scratched in haste and full of strife
I have listened in the cool night's breath
To symphonies more grand
Than orchestras assembled fair
For the feeble notes of man
But through the words and wood and paint
though cracked and frail they be
I see with trembling fingers
a trace of eternity
We frame with fallen hands
the echo of the One
we reach to catch in song and stone
the Heart of our True Home
And though it's but an icon
a shadow before the sun
I'll write and shape and sing as well
my echos of the One
