Such brutal gifts the heavens unveil,
to set an anvil on an egg, a hatchet in a feather;
the weight of glory on backs unprepared to bear it.
Such searing grace this love reveals,
to wear the clothing that burns, the garments of pain;
smoke and embers blend muscle, will and fiber of heart.
Such elusive things this story tells,
to plot a course where plot is lost, no stage is found;
winds of change or just the wind, no difference on this tale of tears.
Such dimpled love for ancient hands,
to push up, squeeze through, hold tight another’s feeble hand;
heaven stretches her saving arms for arms too short to hold.
Such tender truth this great one sings,
to tease a tone or two from iron souls, the fresh notes of morning;
sung secrets for earthen voices still too tender for songs.