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Imagine seated in an oscillating swing

Lunatic hands pushing malicious dreams

The low point my childhood may rise to ascend

Only to fall to the nursery again

Sweet sister of pity and celestial love

Reach hands from your grave to mine above

The loss of thee had never from heart

Not flesh, not bone, nor grief depart

Your coffin preserves, at home with worms

Death springs relics as seasons turn

Alas I wallow the high blue depths

Sorrow wrought eyes search through white beds

Where past and present melt into another

Our misery as children the laughter for others

And such is dead children whom languish in fear

As we as grown children live languishing tears