Does it care?
Does it think of me when mountains seek the sky,
when migrating herons turn across the sea?
And to my needs will it come and testify?
With all its works, does it really care for me?
I harbor no questions about its power,
greater than me I concede, for I am less
than summer's heat or a spring's April shower.
Does it really care...sometimes perhaps, I guess.
Will my prayers move mountains as they say,
bring back the dead and heal the horribly sick?
Can I ever know...perhaps one day I may.
Am I sane to hope or just a lunatic?
Does it notice when my day goes bad?
It is much the greater; I am much the less.
If it doesn't care, I think that's really sad.
Does it really care...sometimes perhaps, I guess.
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