You once grew currents, To be let free from despondent eyes. You once cried in aghast tantrums, Losing your sanity with each surmise. You once faded into memories of men, Who had treated you poorly. Poor thing, Welcome up This new evening, For I have set a bird upon your shoulder That chirps for the newest morn. You have felt somber, in the need to mourn. Your eyes, green, as though hazel. Your sounds, from a wilted shrub, Quivering, in spoken temptations To me, who has kept away from thee. I dreamt, so deeply Of the fires beside The funerals, claiming not the coffin, Though the wood of many growths. Reach for your heart, If you can. Gain your ground, If you may stand. Step evenly, With grace, Allowing you space To see The face of God, in the day, Not the faces of the moon, at night.