I know the light will come; it always does. There never was a night that didn't end.
I sit before my window and defend
My faith in light from all the dark that was
So solid through the heavy, blackened hours:
The nothingness, the absence of the real
The looming lack of somethingness, the steal
Of joy and hope by night's reputed powers.
My view is to the west. I can't discern
The first appearing of that fiery sphere.
I wait to see its echo over here
To watch the river brighten and then burn.
I know the light will come. I do not fear
The world's forgetting that it still must turn.