I woke up singing this morning
wandering also around, in my mind,
a mystical green place of sparkling sun and dew.

It is where we go when we die,
drawn toward light from the dark
gate to living things.

It is where we are when we rise
high, inspired by an inner voice,
the voice that says, go forth and create.

It is why I am dying to live,
letting go of worn visions,
returning to the beginning.

From love I perceive his hand
touch my face and do not think,
but feel conciousness, clear --

contented beyond contentment
from a simple caress.  Why is he here for me?
Why am I here for him?

For this dying to live,
this touch on my face,
this singing in the morning.