Only now I sense the cold clasp of the probing fingers of the night.
Earlier they had calmed me into a blissful delight,
Now they drift before my eyes
Leaving just a mist that shrouds my sight,
Offering only fatigue before – perception offers me – a vision of her!
Now encircling my aching body are rich musical tones,
That once was a personal recital from R.V.W. in his ‘Pastoral’ semitones.
Yet how atmospheric they now seem to thrive in this his most perfect musical proposition.
Only now in the ‘wee small hours’ do I conceive her face bathed in- illuminated perfection!
Once long ago Nicodemus journeyed forth in the darkness of his night,
To enquire of Jesus on what a sinner must do to walk in the light?
‘Ye must be born again’
To a disconcerted Nicodemus.
Now as the arriving dawn invades the darkness of my solitary night,
Again a form so enthral, so familiar infringes my sight.
Slowly her hand reaches out for mine,
And how touched I am that she seeks no others but mine!
But now through the gloomy drapes of the night,
She is indeed to me a most shining sight.
But first I choose to recall one night long ago in another place,
When Nicodemus was given that most adored lasting saving assurance!
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