Take your crayon, my
darling child,
Take it and observe
The world that runs
in currents wild
And no master serves
In landscapes drawn
by hand so mild.
Take the globe
between your thumbs
Now give it a good
squeeze
Listen to the
beating drums
That no man learns
to please
And longs for whence
he never comes.
Take the city of
your youth
And watch it burn in
flame
Take upon yourself
the truth
That bears no
earthly name
And let your heart
succumb to ruth.
Take this little
crayon, my dear,
And - swiftly, lest
it fade!
Set it to the paper,
here,
And ply your
childish trade
Among the people
born of fear.
Give the paper here,
my son,
And show me how you
draw
The lines that run
from moon to sun
And rustle in the
thaw
That once in hearts
of man begun.
Give unto the world
a line
That tears from
heart to soul
And builds again
what is not thine
For making music
whole
And telling of
unearthly time.
Give a shout of
prophecy
Give all your
moments hence
Give of the things
which go unseen
Give and destroy the
fence
Forgive and be set
free.
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