His body frail,
And voice thin,
When ever spoken,
Lost on the faintest breeze,
Like the courage of a boy.

He is slight,
And his voice subtle,
It is a current,
It is under,
And over,
And always,
Through.

Passing as vapor in sunlight,
Through,
Always through.

He sees,
And he feels,
Perfection at his call,
And he is silent,
And still,
Patient.

He mourns soundness,
And he is shame,
Patience an art,
Practiced,
Precise.

He is beautiful,
And frail.