Make my face your home
Daughter of our father.
Hide thee in the creases that precede you
In the tiny holes you press on cheeks.
In the white,
In the music of the eyes
Though my mind be racked by care
And my forehead be etched with lines of wear.
Break through the clouds
Tear through the veil.

Like the orange orb on darkset nights,
Chase the gloom with sticks of light.

When men nettle me with their purple ****
If all my chips make their bed on ocean's rocks
When the cloaked one touch a dear with its cold hands
Confound my pain, chagrin my nettlers.

When I shall gain my one and final portion of land,
On the stone above my head do write
"Here lies HE of the constant brow"