mb3-4 Matter accentWinds sculpt leafy boughs.
Water winds its way urchin to the land.
Trees firm and strong kiss rain-storms
in their delirious trance.
She walks toward heaven
delicately as a leaf.
Her smiles are melodies from trees.
Her laughter fresh as summering days,
She is ever touching me.
In those moments we are free.

from notes of 5/29/82 rev. 12/28/86
– Sigmund Weiss