I pray to be the tool which to your hand
Long use has shaped and moulded till it be
Apt for your need, and, unconsideringly, You take it for its service.
I demand To be forgotten in the woven strand Which grows the multi-coloured tapestry
Of your bright life, and through its tissues lie A hidden, strong, sustaining, grey-toned band.
I wish to dwell around your daylight dreams,
The railing to the stairway of the clouds, To guard your steps securely up, where streams A faery moonshine washing pale the crowds Of pointed stars.
Remember not whereby You mount, protected, to the far-flung sky. ~