i
It would be the most beautiful dream
in the world
If you spend the days of your life
in song––
Singing
For those who care
How much you want
To give.
Making them listen
Making them
Love you
With your heart vibrating
At the center of it all.
You could not fail
To find success and fame––
More than you could ever desire.
ii
Yet even if you live no more
Than a simple, quiet life,
Singing songs
To the tea cups
In your kitchen,
Or the spoons––
And if I wrote my poems to you
And you alone
There would be just as much loveliness
In this world...perhaps more,
Than if your voice were amplified
In a million ears
Or my words cloned
In a hundred thousand books.
iii
Art is the condition
Between the song of the nightingale
And silence--
It is life and
The meaning of life
The way we must worship
All that is beautiful.
iv
So because I believe this is good
And because I believe this is true
Because art is love and
In itself perfection--
I will spend my time reading poems
To the sky
And hope
You will sing to the trees––
Just to keep the clouds white
Just to keep the leaves green.