God respects me when I work;
but God loves me when I sing.
Anything worth thinking about
is worth singing about.
Which is why we have songs of
praise, songs of love, songs of sorrow.
Songs the shepherds sing, on the lonely mountains,
while the sheep are honoring the grass, by eating it.
The dance-songs of the bees, to tell where the flowers,
suddenly, in the morning light, have opened.
A chorus of many, shouting to
heaven, or at it, or pleading.
Or that greatest of love affairs,
a violin and a human body.
And a composer,
maybe hundreds of years dead.
I think of Schubert, scribbling on
a café napkin. Thank you, thank you.
~Excerpted verses from a poem
by Mary Oliver
I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise You(God). ~Psalm 63:5 ✝
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