trees bend with sacred grace

In the midst of busy-ness and Good Friday and feeling awfully city-lonely tonight, I thought of this song. The lyrics remind me of the striking power of the word.

Beneath The Silver Moon by MPJ

You were once a boy in tattered jeans

With skin dark by the sun

Eyes so wide and deep with reckless dreams

To carry you along

You were always talking ’bout the sea

The brilliant mystic view

You never seemed to shrink from mystery

That was life to you

And you would find a resting place

Where stars would light the room

And trees would bend with sacred grace

Beneath the silver moon

I see you in this height so sad and sweet

Your spirit burning bright

I know he whispers still in places deep

With flaming words of light

And you would find a resting place

Where stars would light the room

And trees would bend with sacred grace

Beneath the silver moon