Chapter XXXI

The mists that whirl in greater mists Around the cliffs of space Leave little drops of glistening water Upon His wrinkled face.

Have you heard Him, as walking through The valleys of the night He paces ever back and forth, Silent, old and white?

Upon some jagged piece of dust As high as night is high He watches all the tiny worlds Go spinning down the sky.

Around Him are the burning stars That toss like little ships And winds blow out of dim unknowns Across His very lips.

Have you heard Him amid the silence, Vast as a silken cloud, Lifting His arms with jewelled pendants, Cloaked in a heavy shroud?