Sparse thin limbs painted with laughter,
Far-flung to the wind, carefree;
Laughing at woe, head held high to the blue abyss.

Further in, those sparse thin limbs,
Collide and combine, in a dizzying ring,
Spears of summer packed tight to each other.

Look now deepest to the centre,
And find you a mass of tight-knit spirit,
Blade upon blade, short and fine, in gaily spinning wheels.

Colored by a child in brightest shades of youth,
Hold it to the sky, set its golden disc Before the sun. Let those rays
Fall out of the child’s laughing face,
Painted in all through in audacious gold.
Child’s song, of the truest of freedoms;
Lark’s cry, soaring and laughing in the rapture of the clouds.

Sparse thin limbs painted with laughter,
Far-flung to the wind, carefree;
Laughing at woe, head held high to the blue abyss.