Circle
If words were more than just a letter's hope,
And fools were all that seemed to understand.
If dreams were more than tumbles down a slope,
And gifts were placed within the giver's hand.
Draw forth great visions from the peasant hearts.
Sculpt worlds where sons of suns bring rays of light.
Shout! Why? To whispered streams wisdom imparts.
Follow the blind beyond the gift of sight.
Wind's syllables dance on the ancient trees.
Expressions left within the grains of life,
Where prayers are dusted from the savior's knees,
And given to the husband and the wife.
Then sprinkled to desires far below,
Become the circle, round and round we go.
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