THE SECRET

THE SECRET

It's written on wind, and nobody sees it,
but everyone hears it someway.
It's painted on waters, 
that Wintertime freezes,
and Springtime sets free every May.
It sings in the night, under the stars, 
and whispers and whistles in shadows. 
Like doves, it comes home 
to roost in our hearts,
and runs like a child through the meadows. 

Chorus

What is the Secret flowing along,
ever present, but never defined, 
till somebody cares to weave it in song,
and pass it along to the mind ?

It lies by the hearth, in the glow of the fire.
It walks in the forest, and wades in the stream.
It looks out of our eyes, with Spirit's desire.
Often we call it our dream. 
It travels the years, undimmed by Time, 
uncaptured by any known art.
It hints in our music, and teases in rhyme.
It feels most at home in our heart.

Chorus

What is the Secret flowing along,
ever present, but never defined, 
till somebody cares to weave it in song,
and pass it along to the mind ?