Joy, ephemeral as a blackbird’s song,

As his fragile feathered life,

Carried on balmy breezes,

Disperses with the merest sigh,

In a cloud of mist and thistledown.

But pain uncurls in every broken heart,

Opens heavy arms to embrace the dark,

Beats a swathe, red raw between the dancing trees,

To tear a path beyond the round of sleep,

And clawing through the cold and airless wastes,

Fills the space that lies between the stars,

Swelling into infinity.