May true thoughts, like dawn's rosy fingers, catch the tears your heart cannot hold back; and with them, water those furrows, long-planted, whose blooms accompany us through Life. Pain, my dear friend, is the sun's blazing love: endurance alone can prove its healthy gift. And yet, as the clouds gather and cover us, so pleasure and hope reprieve of constant grief. Stronger, hardier, we ache toward a sky unreachable, grasping at nothing our fingers can touch. Yet I feel it within me: the blossom coming forth, invisible to all, but known to the Gardener's Plan. One day -- ah, what day? -- these thorns so obstructing, will shrink invisible next to a glorious Truth: Oh Color! I cannot command you, or bid you hence, you are the fruit of my Beloved's kiss; And yet, if I obey and heed your grand Design, one day, some eye will feel your touch through me.