Monday, February 16, 2009

a poem

i find you, Lord, in all Things and in all
my fellow creatures, pulsing with your life;
as a tiny seed you sleep in what is small
and in the vast you vastly yield yourself.

the wondrous game that power plays with Things
is to move in such submission through the worlds:
groping in roots and growing thick in trunks
and in treetops like a rising from the dead.
-Rainer Maria Rilke

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