Classic Poem

All that night in the storm
He ran down alleys of himself
And dwelt in the early days …

And now for the first time he knew his love for his Mother …
For he seemed to be a baby again, crawling on the floor,
And playing with coloured stones, and picking daisies apart,
Drunk with the miracles of the world …

And he was alone, in the black night, in his cradle,
And he knew he was alone:
And he cried for his Mother …

And the darkness and the night enfolded him with those arms,
And his longing was eased, and his fear fled away in golden dreams …
But forever his father was stealing the love of his Mother,
And he hated his father.

And now that the world was blasted in pine and oak
And life was shattered by yellow-flying death,
He longed to be a child again.

Then was safety, and then comfort,
Then there were arms to shelter him and to soothe him …
Only then was God.

Now he wept for those comforting arms again:
He did not want to taste the loneliness of being a man.