A sheaf of paper was his hope
He prayed often he wasn't a dope;
Dopeness was worth escaping in that hour
There was nothing, no personal power.
And he climbed the rigging of his own self
Spied far off lands by a gulf; swooped awkwardly
With graceful birds who showed him all conditions
Were merely surds.
"Take us from the pains of midnight
When light is the deepest shadow"
So it became a chant of transformation
Competing with furious turbines and motors.