Come, Come, Whoever You Are
Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving.
It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vows
a thousand times
Come, yet again, come, come.
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All things speak to me. Now this color, now that shape. Now the clear call of the loon. The forest sees me coming And each tree says, "Look at me. See, I reveal the Beautiful." . . .