Stand here with me. Look down. See,
far below, in mist that swirls,
shapes of things that shouldn't be.
There another world begins
very different from our own:
its greatest virtues are our sins,
its skies unearthly birds have flown.
You'll ask me now: what's in the mist.
I can't tell you. I don't know.
They used to come. Now they desist.
There was a bargain, years ago.
I didn't tell you, though I ought --
my daughter dear, I love you so --
I drew your number from the lots.
Stand here with me. Look down. Go.
