Beweeping the state of things to come when day ends
In stupor when I do lie in fulsome emptiness profound
With mind and restless soul draped in sorrows liniments
Watching the movements complete the inevitable round
And comes into the emptiness a hint of a whisper of voice
Deftly, gently, intruding like a needle into sanguine flesh
Demanding, insistent, opening new avenues of choice
A singing of angel's whispers appearing this stone to bless
And hope awakens to lift sorrow's cloak a little while
And flickers in the darkness some mysterious light
And invisibly a wispy manifestation of innocent guile
Opens little windows of sunshine tantalisingly bright
Then does soar into the firmament on gossamer wings
My awakened soul seeking anew the mystery of things
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