Could thought too soon,
be sought to cater?
This will of thine
given the maker.
Clouds drift by
a thwart for the sun.
No gift for one,not anyone.
Should the moon peak
out of the dark
and not fear the night?
It's courage it seems
would come from the light.
This will of thine,
soon to cater
It's own and mine
sought the maker.
