Hark! An Angel calls my name,
In time he'll say "My name is John,"
His vision set my sight aflame,
He sings more beautifully than anyone,
Going with tender, gentle treads,
The sentience and countenance sublime,
Weaving golden, magic threads,
That imbue our souls with sheen divine.
Towards what destination does he go,
Piping songs of pleasantries,
Dancing over valleys, climbing trees,
Dreaming, rocking to and fro?

Wanderlust, he soars the Earth,
Dipping wings across its skies,
Crying: Love will be found even in Love's dearth!
A truth as deep and wide as his eyes,
Fierce the luscious hues and hot,
The blazing fury of his Heart,
Imbued with Truths to mete, depart,
He swells and dwells above my cot,
For his fine Beauty: who conspired?
What fine art could frame his face?
And capture his immortal grace?
To his majesty I've aspired.