When I was green and free of heart,
I thought I would forever sing
In words of strength of the mighty deeds
Of wizards wise and noble kings.
My theme was grand, beyond the earth
And its petty cares of seed and soil:
‘Twas a soaring hymn of Light’s bright birth
Above our tedium and toil.
But shackles now (not all unsought,
Or unconsented to) me bind
Where once were wings are human hands,
In place of sunlight, walls I find.
And so I sing
of little things
My praise goes to a single star
Against the dull grey field of night
Alone, invincible and far.