Piercing The Night With Your Light
The midnight draped its sable veil,
Across the fields where echoes sailed;
The wind, a mourner, softly sighed,
As nameless shadows learned to hide.
Then through the vast and breathless black,
A single gleam came wandering back—
Not born of moon nor distant star,
But from a soul not bound by far.
It pierced the night with silent grace,
As though it sought a long-lost face;
Each trembling beam, both fierce and mild,
Awoke the darkness, reconciled.
The raven hush, the graveyard stone,
Confessed they were not quite alone;
For even sorrow, deep and old,
Must yield before one heart grown bold.
If dawn should fail and heavens weep,
If oceans swallow mountains steep,
Still would that faithful lantern burn,
Awaiting every lost return.
For light is not the foe of night,
But memory made living bright—
A whispered flame no storm can blight,
Forever piercing night with light.
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