I don't know who it's for. It
could be you. I hope it is.
I really do. But the point
is to sing it while I am
me. To call it forth while I
am still here. What else is there?
I'm the poet in the poem,
so that makes me the poem
inside the poet. Is
there something more? I don't know
if that matters. But getting
the song right matters to me.
And by that I mean without
lying or pretending or
just being bored. My own beautiful
song didn't make me
hard inside. For that, I am
thankful. Open up your heart.
That's a central part of it
for me. But I also know
each one of us has to find
a true way alone to the
one way. Even surrounded
by those who always care about
us. My beautiful song
is a funny good feeling,
I remember as always
around. Even during the
darkest years. Regardless, it's
here with me now and I'm singing
it into this poem's
ear, into this tree's branches,
this lonely day's hour for you
to maybe hear, too. My song
is alive as long as I
am honest. Who would have thought
that would be true? My beautiful
song is the way that I
understand everything. My
beautiful song is flying
as before like birds going
to a silver lake. Even
if it doesn't make any
real difference, I mean every
word. Keep your heart open.
My beautiful song without
any telephones. I'm glad
to have spent this time with you.
Let's do it again sometime.