Oh hide me not
In this wide wave world
Of tide and trembled folly.

Come my Billy Blackthroat
See she glides the blinded angels
To their final singing freedom.

I laid my weeds in a foreign place
And bled my joy on a blushing face
To run and ride five senses down
While elements blew above the town
And mercy crept revealing.

Cloudburst. And brave the prickling blades'
enclave of lie down grassy memory.

Be still my joy and carve me clean
A younger boy in pastures green
Flung reeling toward his grave
And through the sky:
For I was happy once and kneeling.

. . .

copyright 2001, Linford Detweiler