Will there be a star on the heavens high
On the morning of the day of my glory?
Will the dark drifting clouds weep when I die?
For I had my life, a sorrowful story.
Show me the mountains to climb to freedom,
For in valleys I live with growing shadows;
Let the fate of every trust worth there come,
So my years to yesteryear yearnings goes.
Give me a freedom, speech and tongue to worship,
For I have much to learn from and to win;
I will from there each my vanity outstrip
And build a castle in the air - from within.
But most of all I need poetic gift,
A Pegasus, my wings to free and lift...
© 2000 Peter S. Quinn - all rights reserved
Real Audio: Will There Be