ENIGMA.
In sleep, not in wake.
In sunshine, not in cloud.
In opal, not in flake.
In wrapper, not in shroud.
In singing, not in crying.
In shouting, not in sighing.
In opening, not in shutting.
In ripping, not in cutting.
In mounting, not in standing.
Silent, swift, grand, expanding.
Which poet tells my story?
Who am I, and what's my glory?
Mother Bunch.