In your light I learn how to love
In your beauty, how to make poems
You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you,
but sometimes I do,
and that sight becomes this art.
Now the green blade rises
from the buried grain,
Wheat that in the dark earth
many years has lain;
Love lives again, that
with the dead has been:
By Your touch You call us
back to life again;
Fields of our hearts

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