The melodies have fled, so have the words,
All mine muses huddle in a trepidant corner,
A somber air hereabouts reluctantly drifts,
The poise could hardly be any colder.

For company are kisses of a lashing whip
That scores in regions I knew not existed,
The moments slip with ease from my grip,
Am absolved from illusions self-bestowed.

Am not mine, and the circumstances less so,
Thy will reigns in silence and the storm,
I but watch as witness to Thy show 
Filled with alarm, danger and passing harm.

In what act or scene is Thy coming,
I wait for Thy will resolution bringing.