wearing a storm on his lips.
The mountains cryI know no mother; no body
has ever known me.
My grass is all withered, for the sun
did not relent his shining.
Has the earth said I have no father;
does he carry a storm in his mouth?
Do the mountains cryI know no mother; no body
has ever known me?
The work of my hands is all faded.
I put out the sun and all splendor sunk with him.
The earth did not disown his own father—
I put the storm in his mouth.
the mountains sing—they echoed I know no mother, but I know now
the One who ever has known me.