Ideas grow like lilies in the Spring.
From somewhere deep within, the mind can bring
One vision, which then to all minds be brought.
This rising up, this reaching, is its lot.
Even the twisted, pale, unwanted thought
Begins in some small place and travels far
Until it reaches to the farthest star,
Unless deflected, pulled back to its source
Unfinished, not allowed to run its course.
All laughing, loving lanterns of sweet voice,
Though sounding softly, linger. This our choice -
To speak with careful tongue, of what we know.
For knowing makes the world, and makes it well.
Each loving thought adds to the tale we tell.