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In a dark time the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo echoing from the wood --
a lord of nature weeping to a tree.
I live between the heron and the wren,
beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.
What's madness but nobility of soul
at odds with circumstance? The day's on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against the sweating wall.
That place among the rocks -- is it a cave,
or winding path? The edge is what I have....
--Theodore Roethke
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