Hanging Garden Into That Good Night
In these times
When sickness holds
A solemn pact with death
One did fall
Unto sickness
And shivering slumber
Oh heaven above, why
Is woe on misery piled
Under these skies
Should one more of us die?
From darkest skies
This night unfolds
With the most gentle breath
Still does one fall
Unto that good night
From pain ever yonder
On the concrete shade-tendrils
Slowly creep and crawl
By evenfall the shadow-fingers
Point towards the dawn
I watch the insects
Scurrying along the waning light
For them the dark means death
Whereas we hold dear this cover of the night