IF YOU COULD PROWL the forest, so stealthy,
that you would not arouse a browsing doe—
or linger by slow waters, to gaze upon Diana bathing,
yet not stir her wary hounds—
and if only you could stand so silent, that you could hear the clouds collide—
if only wings would sprout, from where your arms are swinging,
then you could leave your cares along the path
and with the eagles fly.
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