The Paper Stays Blank Unless You Write
The paper stays blank
Unless you write
The forest stays bare
Unless you plant your seed
The clouds disappear
Until a new season draws near
The fire sits in a furnace
Only if an iron gate bars the sparks
The land lays waste on a hill
If the idle hands fail to fertilize it
The rain will bury the dead
And all who sit beside it
The birds will lift us into the heights
Only when we reach up to find them
The season gives no reason
For those who reap in bare heat
For their labor gives them life
Yet no land can afford them
Their words are few
To let let wisdom flow through
Striving of the world is trivial gain
If the treasures of dust are all that you made
Discount the most and relinquish the many
For in few are the faithful, the meek and the plenty
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