Looking out a darkened window
Not a shred of light remains
Not an outline can be traced
Yet still, my heart is fain
To think that it might see
A fair shape looming nigh
Not part of land, nor part of earth
But reaching towards the sky.
Floating gently in the velvet vault
Like footprints on the mountaintop
Towering up, and jutting across
Like a staircase made of honey pots.
I have seen the steps before me
And I know just where they lead —
Like pale smoke from the chimney
They climb to my mighty King.
© C.M. Blackwood 2016