O Moon, where did you come from to this nearly empty place
where you move seductively, hovering suspended in the sky?
You slip onto the scene silently and will only show your full face
when it suits you, and you arise and beam and then you die.
But you, bright Sun, you gently pattern such intricate lace
through bare branches as you gaze on us and deeply sigh.

Have you nothing to tell us, as right in sight of you we burn
or must we in this mute stillness your brilliant meaning learn?

O Earth, at least you speak to us and do so eloquently
with murmurings and rustlings and wing flappings we hear
though we may misinterpret what is said so elegantly
since you use an unfamiliar language all too clear
while we clash symbols and make noise so relevantly,
but for the proper pitch of singing have no musical ear.

Earth, you dance well-balanced between two half-sisters of divinity
and with this Sun and with this Moon you form a feminine trinity.

But apprehensive we remain before the looming portal
through which we must pass into Finality
until the inner child remembers that we are only mortal
for a little while, confused by the banality
of living without the Wonder that can transport all
to a place forgotten by the older personality.

The reason only the child in us can know heaven on earth
is that grown-ups place value on things that have no worth.