Imagine seated in an oscillating swing
Lunatic hands pushing malicious dreams
The low point my childhood may rise to ascend
Only to fall to the nursery again

Sweet sister of pity and celestial love
Reach hands from your grave to mine above

The loss of thee had never from heart
Not flesh, not bone, nor grief depart

Your coffin preserves, at home with worms
Death springs relics as seasons turn
Alas I wallow the high blue depths
Sorrow wrought eyes search through white beds
Where past and present melt into another
Our misery as children the laughter for others
And such is dead children whom languish in fear
As we as grown children live languishing tears

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