Cradle

Soaring breath of tiredness,
Meet the grey clouds,
Cradles of the world’s sorrow;
Refresh upon cool rain,
Do not return
To this putrid flesh,
To this bed of sinfulness;

Descend upon these exhausted lungs,
Fill them with dygnifying air;
Clear the bluest of throats,
Make it sing again,
And I will open the dusty curtains
To let your howling brothers and sisters in.