New Lullaby
I long for words to sing sublime, sublime,
for words that travel far from distant deeps,
enlightened through the night in time, in time,
and whisper beauty to the one who sleeps.
I long for words to sing of peace, of peace,
of peace that carries boughs of strength and truth
suffused with love that will not cease, not cease,
with love that starts in loving songs of youth.
I long for words to sing alive, alive,
renewed when wearied by a weary road
and like a spirit-sun revive, revive
the soul that bends beneath the heavy load.
I long for words of joy to sing, to sing,
for all the joys of life such words will bring.
Sick Bed
Sick Bed
When I am sick I like to stay in bed
Where I can rest until I’m well again.
I like the pillows propped beneath my head,
And for someone to fluff them now and then.
When I am sick I have the strangest dreams,
Perhaps because I sleep and wake so much,
Where everything is nothing as it seems,
And fades away as I reach out to touch.
The last time I was sick I dreamed a bird
Sat in my room and sang to me all day.
And I could understand his every word;
I wished that he would never go away.
His song was like a comfort-bearing spell
In which he told me soon I would be well.