Orphea
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I am Orphea.
Creatures come to me. I sing, they come, I am their healing. I am mother of All the love-lorn, I am a tree For every bird. I am a rock For those who drown, I am the house Of all the homeless, I am the hand That feeds the hungry, I am the path The lost may follow, I am a fire To warm the lonely. But for Orphea Who is a haven? Who will comfort Orphea’s hunger? The breast of a hill So dry and hard? Orphea roofless Who will shelter? The winter trees Or a draughty sky? Who will sing to her? Who loves Orphea? Only the sun Whose arms are generous, Never the moon, So cold and contrary. Orphea yearns, The moon disdains her. There is no cure For Orphea’s sorrow. Who will comfort The lonely singer? |