The touch of sunlight,
The kiss of snow,
The age and wisdom
Down below
The creaky floorboards,
The thick cement,
The things we've covered
We should lament
Our sinful suppressions,
Our ignorant veneer,
To praise man-made sculptures
And not of Whom We Fear.
The perfect bend of treetops,
The majestic stance of hills,
Get crammed into tiny frames
Like a fish without his gills.
The grandness of the earth and sky
So pure, so deep, so bright,
Has been forsaken in this nearsighted culture
Rushing into the night.

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