The draft it muttered and gently grew,
Like moonlight was washing through,
But curtains shut and others slept,
And in my room this illuminate orb crept.
Toward and back it would swiftly go,
Not ghostlike, a spirit that could glow,
Yet it muttered by and shone lark,
And lit the darkest room ever of dark.
Passes me there, its soul was white,
But reality not a dream filled the night,
Then its fresh air to touch my cheek,
And my guidance i thought it seek.
The curtains I drew and opened window,
To a sky of white dust, moonlight, though,
A star was dark a star alone,
Lit bright as the soul had flown.