Now is the time.
Day departs.
And night begins his slow lumbering plod over earth.

I see him.
From far away,
His flowing robe trails a blanket of stars.

Ghostly children run under his cloak for asylum.
He soothes their scalps with frosty fingertips.

Haunting shadows follow him in a deathly pilgrimage.
The air is full of the moans of martyrs.

Tower of strength,
He takes my soul to a land of dreams.
And rests my head on his shoulder.