Lullaby and whisper are mingling through the sky

Carelessly are shifting the muffled poets’ cry.

How small are we! – exclaimed the little child

And pointed to the chimney. Everything’s mild.

An echo passing through the cave

‘’You’re the last one.’’ – And who is brave?

If I am to choose whether to follow or behave

I am choosing to struggle, and sing, and engrave.

Engrave the Meaning on the ground

Where every sound means something.

And forget that we are bound

To everything which passes with a blink.