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Poem

The night holds such gray, when beating wave and tortured sky compete
      "Still round the corner there may wait, a new road or a secret gate."
Hammered from the surf or pounded from the shapes of the giants causeway
      life will emerge while all eternity waits, the bright of sunlight to relate.

Abate the misery of colorless life, lost love and that which was so sweet
   fill the empty rooms within the manse upon the tor, so now, incomplete
with the sound of childrens laughter and the rampant run of little feet.
   Let loose the lock from gate which binds my love to death so indiscreet.

The looming form of barren rib and prow so sharps denies the rift of heaven
     Its skeletal remains do not harken to the light nor St. Peter's prod
for my love, my life, my heart was lost amongst the waves thus broken
    and will walk no more with me upon the sand or haunted sod.

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