Like jewels glinting in a rushing stream
The children of the Mother brightly shine.
How many are the stones that lie between
The ever-winding, narrow banks of thine?
It's easy to assume a flash of wit
Is just a sparkle or a glint of sun
Reflected from the surface of the brook
Instead of shining from a clever pun.

But I, who've floated all that long, strange glide,
Have learned to recognize the subtle gleam
From hidden gems that rest beneath the tide:
Kind Amos, lovely Sage, bold Rapaire
And others, whose bright voices join the throng.
O, each of you, I thank you for your song!


Eiseley