To My Heart

My lovely, little, lousy, lady light;
how easily you ruffle ev'ry thing
made cute and smart for wonderment to bring.
How you are witty, clever, cute and bright!

Inside of me you dwell as in the sight
of castle with a tower and a ring
of walls alive and beating what will spring
from princess wanting stage to be all right.

And in the play, the story, and the fight,
the crazy tune which you are let to sing
to you appear as nature in the night.

And you, my love, by arrows let it swing,
the stage all yours, whatever holds on tight.
Bewilderment makes wild, and yet, you bring.

On The Edge

A lighthouse stands to show the end of coast.
It is the oldest one, the one with glass
a practised eye on glass just cannot pass.
It is the lighthouse which is southern most.

Perhaps a sailor, in his worthy ship,
will look to it, and say, no matter what,
that is a light which Norway truly got.
Or otherwise, it only guides his trip.

And from within, a child perhaps, or two,
decides the lighthouse it just has to do.
Perhaps it laughs, and climbs the stairs to top.

And by the glass, which light it sees goes through,
perhaps it giggles, seeing sea anew.
And maybe then, a tear from Christ will drop.