There, deep in the forest, a pack
Of wolves gathers for the midnight feast;
Or perhaps to counter the lack
Of warmth in their houseless home,
Hidden far from our abode which we leased
From some fat cat now living in Rome.
So we, with our monies, our art,
Must be more than the wolf - must be raised
High above them to play a loftier part
In the story of our world.
But though we try to appear unfazed
By it all, when first we are hurled
From our birth-place, when first we are free
To make a name for ourselves, alone,
Beneath the sheen I think we
All need the presence of friends.
Is anyone made so entirely of stone
That they don't get lost on life's twists an bends?
And even out there, among the stars,
The circling planets cluster tight.
Mighty Jupiter, the war god, Mars,
Watching as their kin orbit the sun
And bathe in its fearsome light,
'Til even her long life is done
And the great Nova bursts forth in flame,
Consuming all the sun cared for
For age after aeon. Its name,
Though, betraying the true reason for death:
New stars will be born, and life, fresh and raw,
Will grow from its all enveloping breath.
Surrounding us is a sea
Of invisible power;
The energy of which we
All are made, and which carries heat
And light from the sun to each flower,
Each tree, and all those who seat
Themselves on the Earth. Or walk.
Or fly in the infinite blue.
This power, that forms the chalk
Of the cliffs and the ever-pounding seas,
It, too, is alone. It, too, yearns for new
Companions to shelter, or to hear its pleas.
And so, before matter bawled in birth,
Before the suns burned at their core,
The lonely sea pulled in its girth
And grew deeper and denser. Grew
Together until the power bore
Its children: an explosion of light new
To this Universal stage.
Of matter is Man made, and this
Substance born of power. An age
In the weaning and brother to the tree.
And once we are dead, our heat whis-
Pers sadly and rejoins the sea.
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