Who am I to open this book
where gently the heavenly and heart-worthy look?
Who am I to hear these ancient songs
that you sing to me so secretly all day long?
I was merely a scattered seed in the desert of days,
but in the shape of my own shadow, you made a cool resting place.
You sprinkled my heart with sonnets from the sky
and pooled a well within my belly that never runs dry.
Thank you, dear caretaker of the stray seedling,
for making this heart your flower bed, a page for the songs you sing. http://redletterarts.com/page/poetry
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