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.

 

Pictures from here, here and here, respectively