You know better than I what’s died in me.
My God who’s living still, abide in me.
One dream not dead has been this poetry,
Ideas are a spring ne’er dried in me.
A verse which starts despairingly finds hope:
See, these two sides have always vied in me.
In words’ expression there is some repose,
Despite immersion in emotions –strong tide in me.
A life not merely written nor read, but lived:
Sparrow-song calls, may freedom be satisfied in me.