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In the beginning was the Word. Under different skies now, I recall The childhood of the Word. The childhood of the Word.Before the Fall, Was dancing on the green with sun and moon:And the Word was with God. Years pass, relaxed in a faun's afternoon.And the Word was God. For him rise up the litanies of leaves From the tormented wood, and semi-breves Of birds accompany the simple dawn. Obsequious to his mood the valleys yawn, Nymphs scamper or succumb, waterfalls part The hill-face with vivacious smiles. The heart, Propped up against its paradise, records Each wave of godhead in a sea of words. He grows a wall of sunflower and moonflower blent To protest his solitude and to prevent Wolf or worm from trespassing on his rule. Observe how paradise can make a fool: They can't get in; but he—for a god no doubt s bound by his own laws—cannot get out.And the Word was made flesh, Under different skies now,
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