TWENTY-SEVEN

An Enigma

In looks I seem of human kind,

But yet I lack a human mind.

I bear a sad or frightful face

And linger long where wrongs take place.

I come and go, I shine and dim

Where’er the heavenly veil grows thin,

But chiefly when the sun is down

I’m often glimpsed on hallowed ground;

And yet despite my awful fame,

I’m but a creature of your brain.