With every cloud the day did write a story,
as if to reach from heaven’s pencilled sketch,
and cast an image relevant and purposed;
a meaning strong and weak in pure intent.
From curl of leaf and sod of earth it comes,
from drape of cat and howl of grieving dog,
and in the sodden drainings of my tea-cup;
is consciousness revealed and reason told.
Each fibre of all being, great and small,
is full connected through the web of life,
and as the butterfly does spread its wings;
it pulses in all hearts and every mind.