Our Nest

A Lonesome lark I sing to you,

Olden hymns that lilt so true,

of sacred fire, boneless char,

Keep me warm until you tire.

I serve on dreary days, on moon-fled nights,

Yet, I hope for no aching respite.

For no scent more featherly than yours,

Sinks my soul to our twiggy nest of kindled clouds.