A Petition
I pray to be the tool which to your handLong use has shaped and moulded till it beApt for your need, and, unconsideringly,You take it for its service. I demandTo be forgotten in the woven strandWhich grows the multi-coloured tapestryOf your bright life, and through its tissues lieA hidden, strong, sustaining, grey-toned band.I wish to dwell around your daylight dreams,The railing to the stairway of the clouds,To guard your steps securely up, where streamsA faery moonshine washing pale the crowdsOf pointed stars. Remember not wherebyYou mount, protected, to the far-flung sky.