It's been a while since I have mused,
On writing all this poetry,
But feeling dry, somewhat confused,
I turn to such a trusty tree,
"I've carved so many pages from you now,
Old oak of my prolonging ponderance,
We've seen the flowers and their fields in blue,
The far flung hills and precious starlight coats,
We've looked upon all manners of the race,
Those close and far perfected strangers, such,
Joyed saints in silver crowns and rosy cheeks,
I've seen myself become so changed, old oak,
And you so riddled now with words, my words."

I am tired of your pictures,
Funny figures circle-dancing,
Why discard your caricatures,
At my feet until you're laughing,
So I ask you for a moment,
Would you care to hear my ranting?
No-gui~ No-gui~!
No-gui~ No-gui~!

Frustration and disappointment seem to sublimate at your words,
You clothe the flowers,
And feed the birds,
Why do I restless sit?
My feeble hands so absurd,
Will you not save me from myself?
I believe that you will,
You are Faithful and True,
That is your name still,
All that's good comes from you,
So I'll gather up my heart,
Make it still like the deep,
May it beat when yours starts,
May it break with yours too,
Make me lessen and lessen,
Make me meek as your son,
All my future is yours,
And that future is won,
You provide well for all things,
Yet you value me more,
Every thought let it tinge,
Until I worry no more.