Dust

Behind the dirt sprawled before us

Behind narrow eyes and faces of fat

Beyond those hands opened or closed

That strain in vain nor raise their fists

Further than frontiers that barb our path

Further than misery we must look

We must look at what is beauty

The grey sky or blue

The women by the stream

The faithful friend, tomorrow's sun

The fly to the swallow

The boat that returns

The faithful friend, tomorrow's sun

The fly to the swallow

The boat that returns

Beyond the concert of sobs and tears

Of cries, of anger, of men in fear

Beyond the din of streets and singers

Of warning sirens, of swearing porters

Stronger than children who recount the wars

And stronger than the great who've made us make them

We must listen to the bird in the wood

The murmur of summer, the rising of blood

The mother soft songs, the children's prayer

And the noise of the earth gently falling to sleep

The mother soft songs, the children's prayer

And the noise of the earth gently falling to sleep

We must listen, we must look