Your gaze I feel from far across this space –These pews of people, faces of the mass –
And though I hide somewhere behind my face
With dodged glances, still my heart’s impasse
Cannot deny the very Thing it fights.
This is the willow’s curse, to be so near
The Water that it craves, yet not unite
Its roots with tender coolness it reveres.
And yes, the willow bows before Your gaze
(To look is to betray the thoughts inside),
But who’s to say its eyes it cannot raiseWhen from Your searching glance it needn’t hide?
The roots, they cannot drink, or reach the Stream,Unless the Water welcomes them to dream.