Through the dimness of life or stumbling into its light,
Either way I amble downrightly blind;
Through the muck and the mud and the mirage of pyrite,
I scrabble-crawl just to clawingly find
One reason to trust the stars shall align
To dress the spire at the tallest of cathedrals,
On which I might balance that fiber fine:
One straw of hope from a stack of needless needles.