Oh you, whose mysteries deep and wide I plumb,
rise with trailing fingers rippling silk,
and bring to life my veins which feel so numb,
that I may drink of sweet creation's milk.

Leave me not to linger shadow-cowed
blind to inspiration's coloured hues.
I will not waste a moment, I have vowed,
but take that which you offer without cue.

Broad mother, with your understanding eye,
bring forth a birdcall to disturb my sleep;
and with delight I'll listen to your cry,
and take your words within to ponder deep.

I only pray all I can offer up
will fill a little Mother Nature's cup.