Race the rippled autumn wind, trace the light
twixt the leaves, lace a garland for your hair,
and linger in the mist. Hunt for me there
in shadowed nooks beyond all earthly sight.
Face toward the darkling noon, chase the height
o’er hill and dale, grace the grove’s quiet air,
and listen for my call. Banish all care
my pet, for trouble cannot match our flight.
Upon the crowded starlit plain we’ll stand,
timeless, beyond age, when all the endless
words of man will have faded from the page.
Join me, mortal child, in the shadow land.
Strut the darkened stage awhile and pray less
sad you feel, here, releas’d now from your cage.
god america i 