In the soundless sighing of afflicted times
The bells wake the faces absent masks
Words are seeds but letters live in deeds
The sowing is void whose motive’s unfit
All things born in vain shall die in vain
And all without purpose is dead to pain
Knowledge is gold but wisdom is sacred
He is a fool who spites that which is old
Reason is lame that is numb to spirit
Heed only that which radiates being
How is he to tell the lie from truth
Who trades thinking for authority
Like pots of brew which lift the mind
Words are fond which scent of hope
If the dead have learnt to speak
The living must learn to sing
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