It’s been said
By the wind
High in the trees
By the parched moonlight
By the most reclusive shadow
By the grace created by a dream
Of a man on a lonely hill
Where the sky was bare
Without clouds and necessity
Where the fields waved without warning
Who sang for company and
Willed his wounds to heal
Who had seen people joined together
In the evil that exists without reason
Who searched for directions forthcoming
And a quiet kind of sadness