A silhouette against the evening sky
He stands pensive and still;
The twilight fades, the breezes sigh
O’er all the hill.

He lifts his forehead to the dying west
As if in fervent prayer,
Seeking an answer to request
Breathing in the air.

Below his feet the valley now is dark
And lamps in home are red;
He heeds them not, he looks to mark
The sky instead.

From cares and worries he is now set free
To think of higher things.
And when at length he turns, gladly,
His soul has wings.

God’s might and love are never felt until
In search of the unknown,
You stand pensive on a hill,
Twilit, alone.