The moon makes its way
up the skies of the blind,
floating, glowing, signaling time.
Another day passes with eyes unenlightened
and dreams still merely dreams.
When shall it start?
When shall Life take me and fly me off to see its wonders?
The night flies on its livid wings.
The blue stars twinkle at my expense.
The birds of the day fly home to their nests,
and so do swim, the ducks of the tranquil stream,
as it is and has always been.

Oh sweet, immense night, save me, inspire me,
for blinding is the light
of morning arriving.