Job’s comfort in the empty arms of absent,
In disappearing trill although it’s dawn,
In sunshine while the clouds are smirking,
In dreams departed long before they’re born.
Vague soothing in the airs all sung there,
Tranquility despatched, bestowed, bereft,
Fleeting glimpses snatched, strange sort of joyful,
as if the arms of comfort never left.