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The conversation of prayers about to be said |
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By the child going to the bed and the man on the stairs |
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Who climbed to his dying love in her high room |
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The one not caring to whom in his sleep he will move |
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And the other full of tears that she will be dead |
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Turns in the dark on the sound they know will arise |
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Into the answering skies from the green ground |
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From the man on the stairs and the child by his bed |
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The sound about to be said in two prayers |
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For the sleep in a safe land and the love who dies |
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Will be the same grief flying. Whom shall they calm |
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Shall the child sleep unharmed or the man be crying |
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The conversation of prayers about to be said |
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Turns on the quick and the dead and the man on the stairs |
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To night shall find no dying but alive and warm |
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In the fire of his care his love in the high room |
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And the child not caring to whom he climbs his prayer |
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Shall drown in a grief as deep as his true grave |
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And mark the dark eyed wave through the eyes of sleep |
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Dragging him up the stairs to the one who lies dead |
