Beside the flowing silver brook of the Milky way, toward the blaz
ing forest of foreign suns, cosmic winds rustle the bushes of me
teors and excites the nine spheres of cosmic harmony, and a song
high up in the leaves of heaven sings to her of incredible love, and
the distant clouds, like awaiting sailing ships, lie still, becalmed,
the sails slack, and she dreams of love, she dreams of fulfillment.
The high heavens are dark and overarching, and the cradle of life
rocks slowly, rocking her longing to sleep. She needs for now to
lie calm and to choose for now blessed warm comfort, and sleep
to the soft humming of the deep night, like a child rocked by her
mother life.