What do thee tell me, lord
from all the archaic creations of yore?
Which remain afresh with time
not fade away, in rhyme,
The arching heap which binds my gaze,
the swooning speck which sweeps my pace,
the flowing frill which I get to drench
and the cooling breeze which touches my soul
Are all your children
the thousands you behold,
here to put me on hold?
The blinding shine that makes me daze
the rooted spine which calls my gaze
The twitter that eases my groove
the shingles that make up my roof
Are they all true
to extend a hand
to help me cling to my gossamer?
As I drench
in the pleasures of your shore
Topple down into the tides of bond
Sail onto the miseries that rave,
I beseech you
to pour down harmony,
to distract me away from the daze,
not bind me into bond,
to shower down the light,
not confine me to a shade,
to enlighten my soul,
not to tie it to things that foul.