Vision

• I had been sitting alone with books,
• Till doubt was a black disease,
• When I heard the cheerful shout of rooks
• In the bare, prophetic trees.
• Bare trees, prophetic of new birth,
• You lift your branches clean and free
• To be a beacon to the earth,
• A flame of wrath for all to see.
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• And the rooks in the branches laugh and shout
• To those that can hear and understand:
• “Walk through the gloomy ways of doubt
• With the torch of vision in your hand.”