Busy here in the Rock today. Meanwhile, another simple old poem from Way Stations :

                                 from a cave

   
                  Such a small voice,
  I would not stop to hear;
  the sun was going down, and
  there were no houses near.

   
                  Such a strange voice,
  whispering out of the ground –
  familiar, though it seemed
  unearthly, utterly profound.

   
                  Such a sweet voice,
  twining my cavern ear;
  a vine for water jars, when
  all the wedding guests are here.