An Ode to One Sleeping

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When shimmer bands of silken gulls on high,

As children of the sun are wont to do,

And knells from milken throats their hue and cry,

‘tis then I slow begin to think of you.

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No father loved a daughter more than I

Save perhaps He, astride His throne of blue,

So kissed I when your little hands goodbye,

My weariness for living softly grew.

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How strange 'twas, for a light so fresh to die,

For years of pray'r to birth a meager two!

Each sacred smile burned deep into the eye,

Each misty breath for broken hearts a glue ...

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One often thinks of angels hidden by,

How marvel they'd at your egress anew:

'So swift her flame took wing, with final sigh!'

'So bravely through the air it surely flew!'

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but now the grail of youth runs ever dry

'thin he who scarce endures 'tween shore and pew,

for since I bade in earth your body lie ...

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dream I no more a future to pursue

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