Dark days were foreseen
Events turned out mean
No more was I serene
As on the rim do I lean!
The cause, the loss of my pen
My favourite, gifted by my Beloved
Shall I bear with such a stand?
Existence itself seemed recurved!
Blessed thought I be to be though
When a tap I heard on my window
A little dove it was, with my pen in its beak
Delighted, I felt my heart getting weak!
Dark days turned golden
Must be the Mercy of Urizen
A little dove turned invisible
After acting as his rightful disciple!
My Beloved shall not be sad
Fate did not allow me to be bad
To write eternal verses I shall,
Of his love, care and enthrall!