For years I walked through a silent hall, Where winds would cry but not confess. The trees, to me, were only wood, No whisper held, no truth, no good. I laughed at streams that tried to sing, And mocked the birth of early spring. The mountain stood, too proud, too still— A frozen nature without a will. I taught my soul to bloom alone, In rooms of glass and walls of stone. The sun could rise, but not for me— I lit my fire where none could see. No lily's smile, no thunder's cry, Could melt the frost within my eye. I trusted only thoughts I made— Not shifting cloud, nor shadowed valley. | Yet somewhere near the forest’s bend, Where earth and sky seem not to end, A pretty maple fell deep upon the land, And something reached to touch my heart. Now grass does speak, and stones do dream, And rivers hold a sacred shine. I trust the wind, the rain, the flame— All call me gently by my name. And what I lost, or thought I knew, Now shines with morning’s amber light. I held no faith, nor hope, nor plan— Yet here I stand, a changed man. The hills are warm, the stars are near, And even shadows bring no fear. For in that place where none could see, The truest love returned to me. |