morning glory (a christmas tale)

Landschaft (Jean Frédéric Schnyder)

I lit my purest candle close to my window ■ hoping it would catch the eye of any vagabond that passed it by ■ and I'm waiting in my fleeting house ■ before he came, I felt him drawing near ■ as he neared, I felt the ancient fear ■ that he had come to wound my door and jeer ■ and I waited in my fleeting house ■ "Tell me stories," I called to the hobo ■ "Stories of cold," I smiled at the hobo ■ "Stories of old," I knelt to the hobo ■ and he stood before my fleeting house ■ "No" said the hobo, "No more tales of time" ■ "Don't ask me now to wash away the grime" ■ "I can't come in 'cause it's too high a climb" ■ and he walked away from my fleeting house ■ "Then you be damned!" I screamed to the hobo ■ "Leave me alone" I wept to the hobo ■ "Turn into stone," I knelt to the hobo ■ and he walked away from my fleeting house

(This Mortal Coil, Filigree & Shadow, 1986)