:: Derewsna ::

The clock strikes three
In the old man's house
The flame was wick
Strong and still

Awake was he
Yet no arouse
Though he was sick
Strong was his will

Beyond the walls
A zephyr blew
Soft and long
Against the floor

A signal calls
And it slowly grew
Gentle to strong
Through the door

It blew a tune,
A minor key,
A diminished chord,
Leading on.

He was immune.
Hands on his knee.
He prayed to god
To hear his song

The voice echoed
Through space devoid
None responded
Nor replied

From young to old
Never enjoyed
None corresponded
Freedom denied