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The wind in the pines plays a subtle song,of which I have become effortlessly aware I did not compose it, I do not perform it Yet it simply is as it is Nor do I strain to be aware of it It just is as it has always been The music, strangely, is as bright as My self-lit interior If I tried to compose it or perform it,I could not do so If I strained to become aware of it It would surly die and fade away
The wind in the pines plays a subtle song,of which I have become effortlessly aware I did not compose it, I do not perform it Yet it simply is as it is Nor do I strain to be aware of it It just is as it has always been The music, strangely, is as bright as My self-lit interior If I tried to compose it or perform it,I could not do so If I strained to become aware of it It would surly die and fade away