I have walked through the wilderness
with no wings yet the stars keep twinkling
sometimes, I am scourged by the cold starlit heaven
the pain dreary and my sore heart weary

this soul speaks of a storm with an axe
deep into its roots and the pain is like
a salty stream running through a wounded heart
yet, the fair moon's soft splendor voice
laughs and scorns and rises into starlit heaven

I heard a voice say, no leaf will be shaken
yet, dews like a melody scatter
and these tears are only the telescope
with which I see into a heaven

maybe some day some where
my songs and feeling will greet the moon
that day there’ll be banqueting in the sky
and in every dark night of the soul
lost to searing shooting pain
sounds of joy will echo, pushing away
wet clogging leaves of long dead tulips

somewhere, clouds will tumble
tempting to scoop some earth
to kiss lips of the potted primrose
but the forecast will be frost for them
they will put on a winter coat in spring
and yesterday will come back like a sore throat
even the chill would be felt through woolen sleeves

there, it will come to light
it seems their prophets misinterpreted the season