by Leonard Shaw

and Lo the gentle lantern leads me; swinging
down the quiet cobbles. A pale light singing
from the flickering flame, guides me as I stumble
down the way.
Although the unlit street’s a cool pretence,
Surely buildings pass on either side, but
Dare I not to reach and stroke the brickwork.
Lest this cold presumption’s no defence.

So onwards I tramp and stumble. Lacking
company, provisions, winter clothing.
The moon, as if shrouded by her clouds like
some lofty portico, is gone.
Only the lantern leads me. Through
days, months, years even. Though
neither falter, neither me nor the flame.

My mind, my soul it seems inclined to
drag me from the highway. The cunning trickster
dares to lie that all is lost.
But then a second flame far off, manifests itself
along the way.
At first a flicker, but growing surely with each step.
Once hard by it, the flame is now a roaring fire.
And there stands he …