After Victor Hugo
Before I was a man,
I was a fitful lad,
regretful, sad, Ill-pleased,
lamenting the life I’d had.
Before I could become
a newborn worker of light,
I strode through valleys dark,
my angry fire burning bright.
There was no path,
yet miracles ensued,
friends helped me find my own,
my body and soul rescued.
The raging fire now quenched,
the rouged embers languish,
long after midnight’s knell,
yet I know this body healed,
every fiber, every cell.
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