To sit still in a garden filled with hanging vines and grapes,
with potatoes in the ground,
and without formailities in the wind
is the hardest notion sit upon,
The Son fills the sky,
and spirit fills one's lungs.
Never have I doubted
Godspeed or a Sacred Heart,
never have I wanted
to leave, or be apart
Sit still, young butterfly,
the waterfall will not harm,
His hand will not bruise your back,
His yoke is not hard
To pass time away...
I blow feathers up on half days,
raise my hands in the air on Sundays
and kiss and draw hearts on everyday between
And never has my cheerful soul,
ever been alone
A sky is never without Son
Life is Beautiful.
So sing along.
Or sit still young butterfly,
The Earth, His Heart, God's hand
shall be your home.