It’s said that night, not dawn nor dusk,
May mar the world with endless grey,
But sages wise will also say,
“Somewhere a light might bring the day,”

A light that shines through all decay,
To take the dark and pain away,
It glimmers, glowing, slowly growing,
A luminescent, gleaming ray,

I amble, stumble, gloom abounds,
This cavern clouding sight and sound,
I stand unknowing, cool blood flowing,
A fleeting light might yet be found,

My unsure feet on crunching gravel,
Step once more, afraid to stop,

My amble now a steady ramble,
Light seen, it seems, within the bramble,

Sanguine strides now seize my gait,
And gravel turns to stable slate,
The ground grants guidance; true, clean course,
The twisted trail, now strong and straight,

Such clarity comes from countless means,
If ample light is clearly seen,
As life, as love, both near and far,
Or son or sun or distant star,

Well, we who know still always say,
“In every life, light lights the way,
And seldom still, slip not astray,
Search for your light to bring the day.”