Abyssinain Made (Non Sic) Poem by Nathan Coppedge

Nearer to a time and nearer to a brink
The name of one that when alone
Can stand alone and think
And look alone his own
And gather within his gaze
The deepness that will learn
That nature nothing gave

A place upon a time
A time to know a way
To walk upon alone;
To gather and to weigh

And have the space of love
To curl upon and sleep
And in a dream con-jure
What wisdom we can keep

And in that dream endure
The sorrow of a loss
And all of teary folly
And some of folly's cost

And in that dream deter
All eyes that take it in;

And in the hanging mirror
Are shadows that softly weave
Our nature's slow unseaming

Simply do they weave
A language knowing feeling—
With tongues that whittle waves
Guessing gods-

While all of time and meaning tells
Of truth surpassing seeming
An inky darkly well…
And in it dwells
A pearl of human meaning

For all that it may fell
- this angst discerned-
"A pearl" and in its gleam discerned
A flicker of a feeling

The merest wish to soon allow
its light to trickle further in- -
And in its glint it dreams—
Of abyssal mortal mother.