This sweetness would too sweet
Be if withstanding Grace,
It too joyous to despise,
Too lovely to deface,

It is the marbled nectar of
The word of man in God,
So carried and nearclinging to
The shepherd's voice and rod.

A wizened call on dusty winds,
Something of the soot of day falls heavily,
And all is silver roads and obsidian walls,
Dressed up in nocturne melodies, what grace!
It is a mystical thing to hear such songs,
Yet hardly parse their regal countenance.

A memory lane,
Piled up with games,
With all the rounds therein,
Laughs and tears in every win,
Time well spent on family.

Sing a nonsense melody,
It ripples off the walls,
It strikes reflected true,
Struck is my heart,
That such a gift would come to me,
That I can craft a nonsense tune,
That I can make, just as He does.