Written the morning before returning to work after being sick:
Beyond the fever, beyond the dream,
beyond death's cold and bitter gleam,
beyond the shadows, beyond the night,
beyond all this, I see a light.
My health returns, my cough's subdued,
my mind feels somewhat now renewed;
my body aches, my eyes feel rough—
have I really healed enough?
Forced to rest, I want to stay at rest;
allowed to do what's meaningful,
I long to read and write and dream.
I knew Eden in fever's spell;
I saw Heaven while touching Hell.
Now to my drudgery again I go
if still unsure my lungs can make it, though.
But a prayer, a hope, that dream that's mine,
beyond this toil, vision divine…
To live a life, a writer's life,
to share my dreams with you;
to spend my days as my own days
with the Good, Beautiful, & True.
Tale Told 