The Shepherd Will Deny The

Trees Are Poems The Earth Writes Upon The Sky, We Fell Them Down And Turn Them Into Paper, That We May Record Our Emptiness.

For What Is It To Die But To Stand Naked In The Wind And To Melt Into The Sun? And What Is It To Cease Breathing But To Free The Breath From Its Restless Tides, That It May Rise And Expand And Seek God Unencumbered? Only When You Drink From The River Of Silence Shall You Indeed Sing. And When You Have Reached The Mountaintop,then You Shall Begin To Climb. And When The Earth Shal Claim Your Limbs,then Shall You Truly Dance.

The Fool Sees Naught But Folly; And The Madman Only Madness. Yesterday I Asked A Foolish Man To Count The Fools Among Us. He Laughed And Said, "this Is Too Hard A Thing To Do, And It Will Take Too Long. Were It Not Better To Count Only The Wise?"

In The Depth Of My Soul There Is A Wordless Song - A Song That Lives In The Seed Of My Heart. It Refuses To Melt With Ink On Parchment; It Engulfs My Affection In A Transparent Cloak And Flows, But Not Upon My Lips.

If I Extend An Empty Hand And In Retrieving It And Finding It Still Empty, I Feel Disappointment, That Is Foolishness; Yet If I Extend A Hand Which Is Full And Yet Find No One To Receive It, Then That Is Hopelessness.