There lives a stranger, Some loath, some love. Bounded nought by time, Nor the grave, or what's above. He walks in darkness, Wielding silence as his rod. Could he be a blessing, Or a punishment from God? A friend he is to some, And a foe to those who'd run. We know not when he comes, Only to answer when he calls. When we count the stars, Awaiting his return, He will come as he wills — A fate we can't adjourn.