In this moment of awe,
In the still, quiet moments of perfect beauty,
I almost dare not
To form into words
My thoughts,
My joys,
The images that flood my soul,
That they might flee from me
Were I too forceful or direct
In my naming of them,
In my speaking of their existence;
For isn’t the deepest beauty,
The fullest love,
The most cherished of treasures,
That for which words are not sufficient,
That which human speech
Cannot capture or express?
Isn’t the greatest joy found most surely
Under the shroud of divine mystery?
