not all is measured by you
your silence so heavy and grey
for through the woods there is music
where crystalline streamlets play

the city is pierced by sunlight
and cries of the sun-darkened birds
and cinnamon coffee is scenting
the world — where to go from here

acacias, elms, and maples
are rustling above my head
not all is to be measured by you
not all is to be measured, I said

the poppies boil in crimson
in grasses parched and thin
a shell in its hidden hollow
whispers the truth within

the silver and emerald waves
roll out their breathing and glow
not all is to be measured by you
not all is to be measured, I know

and the runway at takeoff
and asphalt that steams in the heat
and water that springs from the hose
and clouds where the blue heavens meet

here smoke at dusk from the fire
here is a cheerful birdcall
not all is to be measured by you
not all — I repeat — no, not all

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Thanks to Leah Borovoi for improving the text.