Before the bells, before the street awakes,
Brother Sun climbs over the coconut palms;
he does not ask if I deserve the light —
he simply gives it, as the Father gives.Sister Water waits in the brass pot,
cool from the night, for the first prayer;
the crow, the sparrow and the temple dove
sing the same psalm in different words.Teach me, little poor man of Assisi,
to walk this lane as if it were a church,
to greet each face as brother, sister, friend,
and to begin the day with “Praised be you.”
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