Sometimes I hear it in a sudden snatch of birdsong,
The intensity of rain,
Your footsteps in the breeze.
You laugh through the cicadas
And splash in the fountains:
Air and water sing of you.
But more often I hear with my eyes.
The sky’s infinity sings of you:
Blueness in immeasurable caress.
I catch your tune in the rain-dropped leaves,
The gladness of buttercups,
The playfulness of clouds.
The lift of a bird’s wing
Breaks my heart with melody,
And the trees cry “Hallelujah!”
In antiphonal chorus.
The waves crash with angelic percussion,
And the small things warble, “yes!”
But clearest of all, the music sounds in stories.
Its chords ring out in courage and sacrifice,
Pianissimo in tenderness,
And marching sharp in truth.
Harps sound in common kindness,
And flutes in soul’s resolve.
The mystery of grace demands
An orchestra of tears.
In the story of your love
The music swells past bearing.
Blessed are the ears that hear,
And the souls that listen
And the hearts that understand.
Blessed are they that sing
Your own notes back to you
However out of tune.
And blessed are the feet that move in timeTo the melody of heaven.