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If conscience ever comes to haunt me 

First in whispers, faint and small 

And then aloud in sobs 

In some dim corner  I’d fold myself 

And let my breath fade softly into death.

If despair should one day find me

And clasp me tight — till bones give way,

And from afar I’ll hear

The trembling scream of a Lamb.

I’ll howl to the sky

And sink upon the earth as dust.

If the Inquisitor

Should find me

In a silent pit of stone,

I’d curtsy with a playful grace

And walk beside him home.