(HenryDenver)

There are many ways of being in the circle we call life.

A wise man seeks an answer, burns his candle through the night.

Is a jewel just a pebble that found a way to shine?

Is a hero's blood more righteous than a hobo's sip of wine?

Did I speak to you one morning on some distant world away?

Did you save me from an arrow? Did you lay me in a grave?

Were we brothers on a journey? Did you teach me how to run?

Were we broken by the waters? Did I lie you in the sun?



I dreamed you were a prophet in a meadow, I dreamed I was a mountain in the wind.

I dreamed you knelt and touched me with a flower, I awoke with this: a flower in my hand.



I know that love is seeing all the infinite in one.

In the brotherhood of creatures, through the Father, through the Son.

The vision of your goodness will sustain me through the cold.

Take my hand now to remember when you find yourself alone: you are never alone.



And the spirit fills the darkness of the heavens. It fills the endless yearning of the soul.

It lives within a star too far to dream of. It lives within each part and is the whole:

it's the fire and the wings that fly us home, fly us home, fly us home.