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With hope and glory lost amidst the rain I thought no more of kissing your soft brow And joy was found where boys have often lain Amidst the comfort brought into the now Your name was but a seraphim of joy Your touch a touch that haunts the deepest hour Oh how I prayed to be but just a toy To climb your hair up to the fabled tower And then in days so whisked away I fall With eyes that see the pebbles listless glows So soft, I thought I heard a singing call With tunes that memory tells the loins it knows Do I dare turn on chance it be your gaze? The cherubim's voice haunts my lowest days |