Awake, ‘O sleeper, and Rise from the dead!
But take it from me–that light, that life
that’s beaming inside you
won’t be content kept behind
a windowshade; or a lamp,
or the deepest grave.
That restless, burning light
will beg to pierce the night,
like a child into the rain:

Jumping, rejoicing–puddle to gloomy puddle–
making sure that every drop
crashing to the earth has a chance to splash
back into the air where it belongs.

But aren’t we all like raindrops?
Sitting in this puddle, waiting to evaporate?
Say! Perhaps along the way we could
seep deep into the earth,
find some lonely root,
and help that starving flower bloom.