Who Dreams Of A Son, Save One,

No One Knows, The Heart Of A Child, How It Grows Until It Is Too Late.

Take What The Old-church Found In Mithra's Tomb, Candle And Script And Bell, Take What The New-church Spat Upon And Broke And Shattered.

Let Love Step Down, Open The Clasped Hands, Forfeit The Thorny Crown, Retrieve The Garment That Was Whole, Body And Spirit One, Spirit And Soul.

There Must Be Real Gods See, The Painted Gods How Fair!

Ardent Yet Chill And Formal, How I Ache To Tempt A Chisel As A Sculptor.