The rock that stood against the night
In silhouette above the sea,
This great embodied permanence,
Its inorganic innocence
A lamp that led the little sister
Up the winding hill.
The stave they placed within her hands
She held aloft above the stones
And fell as it was meant to be.
This final kakistocracy
Could smile as in the last ascent
She stumbled on the hill.
She rose again to reach the top,
To face the famous headland wind,
And stemmed the tears behind her eyes.
The silent ever-busy skies
Were bringing in the cirrus clouds
From all eternity.
And here the citadel was built;
Its walls the little sister's cloak;
Its light the light that lives within.
The memory of any sin
Was taken on the smallest cloud
And never seen again.