Against your palms the grass will hum
if faintly pet the bending blades, you fare.
Yet, prior sang the brushing shoot,
as calling unto thee to pose it care.

You, Cloud, above the midnight hushed:
be still, until the tempered winds disturb.
Soon, charm the storms that madden plain,
so duty might you serve with rain, to curb.

"Erode the dirt," this land proclaims,
"destroy my flesh with waters, gust, and mire;
shall need I scars within my frame,
to breathe by chorus, verse, and varied choir."

Beyond the stage of rock and vine,
be earthen orb, and star exalted true.
One burns, so other might delight,
without the pains of sought: not -- lesser blue.

And star by stars, may day the Earths;
and night the others' darkness yonder broad,
Yet, Earths may steal without returning light;
only mortals assign fraud.

Thus, Cosmos care not: sins and good;
for, push and pull define we: whole, entire.
So, fate be mold, and clay: you. Listen, though...
the truth survives the duping crier.