Praise Allah, Buddha, Christ.
Praise what has made us.
Praise Mother Ocean.
Praise the follies of all men.
Praise self-awareness, dyed saffron yellow.
Praise the children, whose hopes have not yet come.
Praise the tulle fog.
Praise the harvest.
Praise those in strife. And those in abundance.
Praise what I cannot see.
On the wind comes the music of the world dressed in some inexplicable wanderlust.
Praise my blindness:
For I call out in the night,
Waiting still for your knowledge.
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