Jo Bertini
From a wreck of tree in the wash of night
Glory, glory, sings the bird;
Across ten thousand years of light
His creative voice is heard.
Wide on a tide of wind are set
Warp and woof of silvered air;
But the song slips through the net
To where the myriad galaxies are.
And to the heartbeats of the light,
Now from the deepness of the glade
Well up the bubbles of delight:
Of such stuff the stars were made.
(David Campbell - Speak with the sun)
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