In the dark womb
of the restive
Bitter December Night,
Lies the seed of a brilliant light
That revives the sinking patient
On the catheter
Who hopes to survive
Another tough night,
To see the golden dawn
Of another fresh day,
To feel the new
Wind on the tired face,
To hear the sweet
Bird-songs
In the scented bower,
Far away in Greece,
To hear the laughter
Of kids playing in the courtyard,
Outside the barred windows
In dark Harlem,
And the uplifting Church bells,
Sounding on a bleak grey day
In a secluded Alpine village;
The flickering hope,
Like the flickering lines,
On the monitor,
Sustains the family
Huddled together,
Around the prostrate figure
On the sick bed,
Beating all the grim
Prognosis of the young
Bored doctors of an Asian
Municipal hospital.
