I searched among the mud for the straight way
and found it not, I couldn't trust the faculties
whatever god endowed me with. The prosody
of trees and birds hung like a rosary
on the neck of the world, the morning air was dry
and the clouds were pink. I have begun a study
of the undulations of her, I am not worried
about her limits. I've understood intuitively
the turning of the earth, light moves diffusely
through the atmosphere. I'm unable to deny
the warmth of the Sun, the passion of the sky
that paints a spectacle. Singing birds fly
from tree to tree, the pasture remains foggy
and in the dawn's remembrance I pray.
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