He said take log out of eye. I’ll try. Fuel for open-eyed living.
Drizzle, stroll splashing down Basquetown lanes, engaging faces, greeting words embraced in kind friendship. In this small town, people stay to talk. The mist and wet, the chill is driven out by fire, in open homes, open hearts.
You, ancient friends, seem not burdened by climbing wealthy heights. You find deep meaning closer to earth, in the people close to you. And you carry other burdens, seeking a place for your people. In this place, I see friendship, loyalty aflame. It’s a fiery land, sparks of hope dancing free.
How should I live here among you? I’ll let my logs and specks burn to ash to feed flames that warm life together. I dwell knowing that I must throw my log to the fire. And in the bright furnace I cannot help but see you. Some call you love; because I see you, I call you by name.