for song is a burning and crested act fire of birds in the worlds turning wood D.T.

Powerful words that gave me
courage to turn away
from what had seemed so safe
the mothering academy
safe perhaps but in my dream
my left hand had withered
and the surgeon all too eager
ready to amputate
no, I said my hand will heal
and so it did
once I had made the leap
begun to live out of
my real love my gift
a gift of song of music
that has led me through the world
so lightly smoothly that I cannot help
but be amazed
and if only rarely burning
or crested - god knows I'm no Dylan
yet I share his joy his wonder
at this God-speeded summer's end