Pale ghosties come to play;

Sit on my knee and sing a lighthouse

Into the yearly glut of orange mellows’,

She walked over in a light of remembrance,

In a trance from the saw of indefinite quarrel,

And quite plastered in a midnight tyranny

Unravelled at dawn. It is the mirror

Of all magick deep inside a raven claw,

Biting heads in chewing madness,

As singing as a dove on patrol

In the particle newness of a light still bare

After only a moment in dust has come peace;

Never let the light out, good Lord, for it will bite the dust.