Clear Hour

I have been the wasted spray, the flying, fretted foam:
Now I'll be the blue pool where water is at home.

I have been the haggard cloud, wind-driven like white dust:
Now I'll be the smooth sky the littlest star may trust.

And I have been a free bird, to follow my own needs:
Now in the cage of God's love, the stars are golden seeds.
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