And weave its petals in a simple rhyme,
So you could hear the bells of springtime chime
And you could see the flower soul
in them—
Or else, we’ll say, a magpie on the limb,
Greeting the sunrise with its matin song—
To catch the music as it floats along,
And link its spirit to a bush-child’s hymn.
Or, if—but then the limitations rise,
Like barriers across the mental plain,