If you are deaf and blind, if this is all lost to you,
God, if the dead in their coffins amid the silver handles on the edge of town, or the reckless dead of war days thrown unknown in pits, if these dead are forever deaf and blind and lost,
Our prayer of thanks.
God,
The game is all your way, the secrets and the signals and the system; and so, for the break of the game and the first play and the last,
Our prayer of thanks.
Clara Shanafelt
TO THEE
White foam flower, red flame flower
On my tree of delight.