Do demons lurk where sunbeams fail?
Do terrors crawl where shades prevail?
I dread the shadows of the vale,
and tremble at the torrentís tale.
The wind gusts up from the valley below,
and rustles the trees of so long ago,
trembles the grass that grows at the verge,
troubles the hair from my hat does emerge.
I gaze down below to the great river's flow,
the carver engraves with blow after blow,
grinding away at the valley so carven,
graving hard in the landscape deep-riven,
bearing it all to the far distant shore
where winds drive the clouds across the wide moor.
Iíve lingered on the brink too long,
the pouring of my time is gone.
But if the water cut me deep,
and slashed me down to where I'd sleep,
Iíd have no need of walks and wends
that wander through the woods and fens.
My valley of decision calls me on,
behold the setting sun is almost gone,
and I would see the shining sea,
must walk along the shadowed lea,
and let the waters dash their stones
against my fragile, aged bones.
Iíve thought too much, I will not stay,
Iíll walk the long and murky way,
to find Godís barque that He provides,
so that my soul quite safe shall hide
across the shimmering water, free
at last to live beyond the sea.
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