The gentle coolness of the morn
Heralding the day that is to be born

Like the voiceless struggles of the unborn
The light struggles not to be too soon

Having explored the mysteries beyond horizon
Have arrived at this blessed twilight zone

As a whimsical wench holds my life thread that is worn
Now will deny to many the mysteries of the new morn

As the frog croaks like a fog horn
I sit still in the knowing, I will never be born