To look upon the world with these dead, glass eyes,
And listen intently with these old, wooden ears,
Is the gift of all gifts.

Like hunting for sand-dollars on the beach,
Only to find a gold coin.

Like looking for a whore,
But instead finding a wife.

Like trying to count smoke.

Like trying to see the center of the sun.

Is it even there?


It's here! Here! HERE!

Just listen...