Old eyes ashine

Breath in the days,

When the night shrouds the sun,

Woken by none,

But a dazzling light.

How the moon sways,

When the rhythms of the dark,

On journeys, do embark,

Clouding human sight.

Whimpers of weary men,

Who shiver in the cold,

Wretchedly old,

Spread like fog upon the wave.

They dream of the glen,

Their haven of pleasure,

Memories they treasure,

That once their lives gave.

Nothing lasts forever,

Or so they always say,

But I ask who are they,

In unkind amusements,

Do hurt the dying river,

Do pain the melting snow,

And winds that cease to blow,

To tear their hearts in rents?

While the misty mornings,

May bloom into the day,

Smiling along its way,

To warm our cold hands,

Our spirits soar yearning,

And reaching out high,

Deep into the sky,

As we sink beneath the sands.