I Laid Me Down {draft 3}

to sleep and did not know the wolf to fear.

I lay me down, and sleep comes no more, for

The light that glares within the wolf’s eye is

Too near and never will sleep.

I lay me down and sleep, for nearer still

The shepherd sees me this night and he sees

The wolf, who never will understand nor

Can ever overwhelm this other light

And will come not a step closer.

It was in vain to wake, rise early and

In vain to stay the wolf with darting, watching eyes,

In vain to eat my daily bread in snatches and fear.

I have laid me down

because He gave me, beloved, sleep.

{inspired by Psalm 4:8; 23; 91:5-6; 121:4; 127:2; John 1:5; 10:1-18; and personal experience}

Reel Around the Sun {wee seedling}

“So cold a winter it’s been, friend, and I’ve

Not seen the sun so many dreary months.”

“Away w’ me, good friend! Away, away

For wild a reel around the sun!

We’ll need no drop to drink nor crumb to eat:

The stars are feast enough! A fine good ship

Of ebony made, sails of dragon’s wings

Sewn, helm of trusty-tempered steel. Off, off!

Off we fly, friend, for wild a reel around the sun!”

{inspired by Reel Around the Sun by Bill Whalen. Three very good versions I love are by Twelve Girls Band, The Gardyne Chamber Ensemble, and the original song on the Riverdance album.}

Hilf mir zu helfen, ach, mein Gott

Today I heard a story sorrowful

In my ears. Hope was hurt beyond the best

Of mortal help. I covered my head just

To give grief some scant privacy. But oh,

But hated shunning sorrow as it looked

For help in my eyes. I can watch, though long

The night, pray my words will keep greedy winds

From scattering you far away and lost

Forever. But your full remedy, sad

And wretched true, is not in me—I've searched

In vain in the long, raging nights. Ach, Gott.

Binding Tides

I feared the sea’s mercurial pull, stayed

Onshore, when I was small. But now

 I find

With some dismay the ocean is in me.

Moons pull and shove me, but beyond the dark

Blue moods I see a Star for me. So, go,

Rage, waves. See if you can blot out that high,

Eternal north star.

Your consolation

Prize? This. A faulty compass, cast aside.

Miranda by John William Waterhouse