Far in the wind so harsh,
'Neath highest depth of sea,
Eldest 'fore first tree,
Young aside newborn babe,
Weaker than fragilest flow'r,
What shall we even call Her,
Who prior to words spoke prouder?
In silence whispers under,
Our clatter, din, and thunder?
We hunt and peck for scraps,
Of Love so small it shatters!
Does it even matter,
Shall we ever trap Her?
Under skies of silver,
Round vales of verdure,
'Twixt waters high, waters low,
And star-shaped waters drudging far,
Long byways, highways,
Over trails of peril,
Beating paths, well-trodding all anew.
Mother to all who call for,
Daughter to none,
For all's Her!