i do not care for grand glory, nor fame,

for inspiring just one, means all the same.

silent is the night,

for the creatures of day

in this kingdom of shadow

are with eyes shut tight.

all but the lone,

the restless in the sky,

searching; observing;

soaring high and high.

all but the owl,

alone in the night.

let him sing his song of sorrow

for chance his joy return tomorrow.

for chance his joy forsake his life,

he’ll tell himself he shall be saved

by love returned, and free from strife,

but naïve he shall remain, enslaved.