Sister of the night; a winter morn
Whilst my comrades indoors dreamt
A delightful sight; an obscure form
And just one lonely bed unkempt.
Not the earliest ray of dawn
Nor it’s gabber of conceited sun
Just the lonely Magpie song
And the return of Her prodigal son
I was your God’s begotten child
Pity you never heard my poem
I was the screamer of screamings wild
Pity I was only a prodigal son.
I now wake into the greatest dream
Into the morn by magic thus kempt
Now for the screamers deepest scream
Lonely no more; only a bed unkempt…
