When I am made young again
To endow the world with glow
Of golden morning sun
So a normal day will go
With all the joy of baskets of ripe oranges,
When sound will crash through moments
Like clean fresh water splashing
Over mountain rocks that clack
And tumble into chasms to a cataract,
Then shall I know time has been reborn,
Mind will yawn and shake itself awake.
Then will sharp eyes snare the small industry of ants
Who bear breadcrumbs in triumph
To succor busy fellows in necessary labor.
Each small bird will be marked in eagerness
And hopeful gaze for offering as I walk by.
The multitudes of leaves will strike silent lightnings
Of jagged blue sky as loving winds ruffle their green.
And I will know the goodness and the wealth
Of this, my Earth, who made me.