Folded Power

Sorrow can wait,For there is magic in the calm estateOf grief; lo, where the dust compliesWisdom lies.

Sorrow can restIndifferent, with her head upon her breast;Idle and hushed, guarded from fears;Content with tears.

Sorrow can bide,With sealed lids and hands unoccupied.Sorrow can fold her latent might,Dwelling with night.

But Sorrow will riseFrom her dream of sombre and hushed eternities.Lifting a Child, she will softly moveWith a mother's love

She will softly rise.Her embrace the dying will recognize,Lifting them gently through strange delightTo a clearer light.