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.


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