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.