Mist

A rushing multitude of thoughts
Seeking expression,
Eyes bright with tears.
It is the intense beauty of the day
– The world – The people –
Singing to me, out of the greyness.
I hear the music of the voices,
And the deep splendour of the poetry
Of many hearts,
Singing, singing:
When will you learn to be, only to be;
To stand amidst the surging waves of beauty,
And let the music soak your every fibre;
To learn to move,
Softly, gently,
Gracefully,
In joyful unison
With the great Orchestra of Being?

Oh, what happiness!
But then the music fades
And I forget.