The Evening Star

She will come as a vision in the meadow:

As the summer's evening sun

Trickles down the westward sky.

She will come gently in her loveliness,

Beautiful and slow.

She will come as a bright day's warmth

Amidst the winter's chill;

As the February hour that steals

Another minute's light from the dark.

As a peace after the tumult,

As birdsong in the spring's morn,

As a brook in the fastness of the forest,

As the whispered promise of dawn,

She will come,

And past pains will rest at last

Sleeping deeply with present joys.

She will come at her own time,

Upon her own day, at our own rhythm,

When the steps of the dance are such

As to unite us out of this heady swirl.

She will come as a lone star

Peering through the dark clouds of the night,

And by that slender, shimmering light,

She’ll lead me home. Home. Home, again.