The harsh night wind has stilled, my child,
And sleeps on dreary darkling skies.
Wet weeping leaves shed heavy tears,
That strike the pond’s still black water,
Like the clock ticks of drunken Time,
And floating withered autumn leaves
Scurry from the watery craters.
There beyond are sodden woodlands
Where silent birds tremble in the dark
And unseen voles flee starving shrews
‘Til frighted darkness flees the dawn.
Listen to the night; try to hear
each voice singing a solo song
in a different tongue; yet all say
That to listen is not to hear;
That mere knowledge isn’t wisdom;
That what’s unseen is not unreal.
And in this bright flashlight beam,
As each thick drop strikes black water
A firefly flashes there to prove
its reflected light’s eternal.