The rivers so sublime they stream,
While love is sky and sky is blue;
A white winged creature in my dream,
Is lulling me a clue:
Within the spirit of the Willow,
The whispers of the boughs shall cry;
For where the mighty angels bellow,
There the sound of love won't die.
Indeed their song is everdrifting,
Neither wind nor clouds could know;
That from the heavens they are shifting,
Forms of beauty wide to flow.
Whisper, whisper, Cherub of mine,
Bring me, bring me, to the light;
For your wings are so divine,
Free me, free me, from the night.
In the nethers of my sleep,
The mirror of the moon still rove;
Tonight the universe is deep,
So let me fly with you to love.
However the profound explore,
We will become the evermore;
Over the shore it shall transpire,
The things in life I most aspire:
To be the angel tall and wan,
To see the beauty of the swan.

© 1998, Stephan Attia