He rose and wept.
Tears of melting gold,
descending overhead.
Banished the bolt,
trounced the thunder.
Yet still it pours gentle..
Bade the clouds remain.
Commanded the fog to hold.
Deemed the moment should endure,
that this day should be seized...
Neath shower mild,
through summer breeze..
Where the waves glimmer,
and when the winds speak.
As They work the spindle,
as They spin the final thread..
I wonder if the light will last,
and I hope I will be brave