‘Tis the first, fresh breeze
That tickled my feet.
‘Tis the first, fresh rays
That rose my creed.
‘Tis the first, fresh time
That only the Earth could lead.
‘Tis the first, serene chirp
Of the morning lark.
‘Tis the first, calm hum
Of the night so dark.
‘Tis the first, first time
I see the moon leave its mark.
And oh! So beautiful,
Oh! So fulfilling
To see those upturned hourglasses,
With the sands not sinking.
And the clock’s not ticking,
It’s a pin drop quiet.
Its just the crows that are cawing,
None of the jostling riots.
And this strange silence
Happens to draw my sins,
Pulls these extant fears
Away from my kin.
Oh! The night grows black,
Still, a reflection seeps in,
And settles somewhere deep.
Mere happenstance! Yet I think:
That lord! I know,
One day the sands will fall.
And the clock will tick again,
And out we’ll crawl.
But I pray to Thee—
Let the chirps not stop.
Let the babies see
The Sun’s yellow drops.
Let the music play,
That comes from the shaking trees,
And the flowery fragrance stays,
When all is hit by the breeze.
And then—
‘Twill be the first, fresh crawl
That we’ll take as one.
‘Twill be the first, fresh dawn
And this Earth will have won.
Poetry.inc 