The world O the world a can full of lively worm,
wriggling for spirit to attain at last perfect form.
Man, at last, no more a wriggling worm, but aghast
at nascent mind crawling through mud to speak, at last.
The long journey, the long road into the black of night
to free the mute voice that wakes heart by dawn’s light.
The heart must sing, and sing and pass the many days
and learn the song that reveals spirit’s lonely ways.
Crawl O crawl my spirit into the voice of tall song
that prostrates before the Word who forgives all wrong.
Now is the time, the beginning of the cherished end
when the music of our longing will all breath expend.
Despite the fact, O Darvish, that you can not sing-
the voice of your heart is a diva who wears your ring.