The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
But when I call for a hero, out comes my lazy old self; so I never know who I am, nor how many I am or will be. I'd love to be able to touch a bell and summon the real me, because if I really need myself, I mustn't disappear.
Give me, for my life, all lives, give me all the pain of everyone, I'm going to turn it into hope. Give me all the joys, even the most secret, because otherwise how will these things be known? I have to tell them, give me the labors of everyday, for that's what I sing.