Blessings more than I can count Are flowing from a hidden fount, Tenderly like flakes of snow They cover barren ground below. In pattern different and rare As woven with the utmost care They drape me in a woof of bliss; The weaver's hand I'd like to kiss. And blessings follow in my sleep, For then with stars I dance and leap, And when I wake without a care, I still find stardust in my hair. |