“I cannot offer”

The hills do not know me
and the waves erase my name,
I cannot offer the gifts of the earth.

I cannot offer the broad mountain and wild rose,
the moody sky and its quarreling clouds.
My hooves are frightened,
they fall on the rocky path,
and they tear on the virgin thorns.
Because its waters do not call me,
I cannot offer the gifts of the earth.

But you sprang from the soil.

You awoke in the blue day
that echoed in the trees,
opened your arms, and embraced the dawn.
Your voice flew from branch to branch,
and your happy hooves played,
laughing with the stream.
The wind whispered secrets of the stone,
and the sun sketched your soul
with stretching shadows.

I cannot offer the earth,
so I wait the night in silence
to admire your midnight crown.