Seven steps in the present
Unaware and unloved
I fly away to below
Seven three and via seven
That numerical unevennessI crawl up to the white light
Seven vortices I miss still
To go straight and stand upLame I look back at Bethlehem
Seven times in a row my flight
From the past and back to plight
And even the moon-priest smiles at me
Sevens are indivisible
Other than by the days in this life
And my Creator too is himself and ever One
Seven true loves in this life
At the end there are yet three withered
And the priest of the sun knows which four blossom
Seven chapters and seven pedestals
And some of those sevens have simply fallen off
But these four stand proud: Father, father, Beloved and beloved
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