Hush, hush, dear one for I have things to say. Listen, before time sweeps

you off and on your way. Let your truths grow as tall as Oak trees; strong

with endless roots and green branches outstretched to indigo skies. Let your

voice be as a whisper that echoes on the wind; raised loud only in the midst

of storms. Let your heart be steady; red as the rose not easily plucked from

thorny stems. Let your thoughts be wild and wondrous; forever untamed. Let

your spirit choose your path; it speaks with wisdom of all who run below starlit

skies. Let all this come to bear when at last you tip white muzzle to moon and

sing. You are the wild, unnamed, thing.