The brisk blue morning whisked in with a thought:
everything in creation rushes, rushes
toward God - tall trees, small bushes,
quick birds and fish, the beetles, round as naught,
eels in the water, deer on forest floor
and we, the spearhead that run on before. . .
So I, with eager voice and news-flushed face,
cry to those caught in comas, stupors, sleeping;
come, everything is running
hurtling through time!
And we are in this race.