Content

That comfortable star,
contented light, which
shines on fulfilled
heavens, satisfied and

willing, the Fates
appeased, that Soul
may then be gratified,
that complacent Self,

be at ease, at peace,
where comfort does
propitiate and rests,
sighing like a cat,

with milk still held on
uncleaned whiskers,
the day replete, as
night creeps serene

into conciliatory place,
snug, resigning to
the fading light where
calm surrender can

serve to soothe and
tranquilize in blessed,
fulfilment, concluding
in concord what was,

so what might be could
stir and later rise in
freshened harmony,
cleansed of discontent.