James Mclain Poet Lyric

Visited Every Year by Extraterrestrials

They come when Winter folds her Wing—
So soft—the Sky—permits a Stir—
A Silver hush—no louder Thing—
Than Breath—of Visitor—

They neither knock—nor signal—Flame—
Nor speak—save through the Air—
Their Thought—an unseen—subtle Name—
The Human—cannot hear—

Each Year—they mark my humble Door—
With Dust—a Star might leave—
I sweep—and yet—it gleams once more—
A Sign I half—believe—

They ask not Bread—nor Candle’s glow—
But bend—to study—Me—
As if—my Soul—were Specimen—
Of their—Infinity—

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