A stranger passed this way and left
His fingerprints on leaves of trees,
On blossoms waving bye the wind,
And petals scented on the breeze.
A spider dances to a tune,
The stranger hummed, and weaves a web,
Its fine and intricate design
An echo of that soundless tune.
I ask the plants so dewy green
To help me in my quest anon,
For footsteps that they might have seen
Or heard pass by their watchful eye.
I ask the creatures of the wood
To tell me whence the stranger came,
And voiceless voices twit and chirp
And so their bet to name a name.
I hear their plaintive, wistful sigh;
They dip their heads in soulful show;
The trees point branches at the sky,
And I glance up and want to know.
How is it that these simple folk
Have answers to my boldest dreams,
Know truths of which I have no ken,
And see the One no eyes have seen?
