what do you do when the moon
is a silver wafer in the sky
and the barley field is blowing
and whispering
all night long?
Leap up! Tiptoe out of the tent
and run!
RUN! Barefoot
(the grass is crunchy with frost)
Bareheaded
(white haired with the starlight)
Barehearted
(God himself can see the thanksgiving
welling up out of your eyes
flooding the woods and fields
and drowning the song of the wind)
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