Birthed of a God, of men forsworn To order parcels of content, and leave My legacy before my last reprieve, I exited the door.

What sun! A sun so shining in a promise Glowing from its place, And calls the calls I know I’ve heard before, But that never seemed to draw me from a door, And tell me: tell them of yourself, and more.

All this had stood, and I had stank insane-! In sinful sacked lost wastefulness I wept To curry o’er that secret that I’d kept That I’d no secret! I in rank disease Would dare the world to damn me if it please…

A boulevard of trees! Each arching down to me to lift me past the sky Where I may seek to be (all things that I Could hope to be) – a hoper, one to spark Your hopes to be fulfilled. – All round the park, The trees are raising tendrils fast in joy To justly raise to God a new-born boy.

Oh World, you are my midwife now, and I Shall make my grateful mark all over thee, Until in my will you new-born shall be.

I have no time for lies. Hushed air waits – not a sound. This world is heaven-sent, and I am heaven-bound.