Wind In The Pine

Oh, I can hear you, God, above the cry
         Of tossing trees--
Rolling your windy tides across the sky,
         And splashing your silver seas
               Over the pine,
         To the water line
               Of the moon.
Oh, I can hear you, God,
Above the wail of the lonely loon--
When the pine tops pitch and nod--
    Chanting your melodies
Of ghostly waterfalls and avalanches,
Swashing your wind among the branches
    To make them pure and white.

Wash over me, God, with your piney breeze,
    And your moon's wet silver pool;
Wash over me, God, with your wind and night
    And leave me clean and cool.

                       ~ Lew Sarett