Unknowing, drops the cloud from Heaven
   silver rimmed in highlights and bold,
   bright flashes behind the hazy limb,
   to the harvest chamber, on the feast.
 
   Pray, inside, are found the 'little ones',
   while whirlwinds blast their thoughts,
   as herald, as banks of trumpets;
   fire sent to blaze in mortal souls.
 
   Rays cross the room, wove in Heaven,
   burning on what, unknown, weave
   in transcendent symbol those who followed
   Him, beyond Ascension, and the grave.
 
   So now, descended, the timbers shake,
   deafening as a stampede shaking beyond
   the first few who persevered on prayer
   tilt back their heads, and burn brighter still.