Darkness surrounds you in your bed alone,
takes over your body, feelings, and soul.
You cringe in great pain and loudly you groan;
a wounded spirit that longs to be whole.
Abandoned in darkness as in a cave
without old Fingal’s music to relieve
the strains of roaring, crashing, white-topped wave
crushing your vessel; they won’t let you leave
for gentle pools in an ocean of calm
that pacifies the buffeted temper;
you cry for the One who anoints with balm
that soothes your total being’s distemper.
Appearing most absent, he is most near,
holds you to his bosom, a son most dear.