Clamor awakens not, rather is sleepe of death.
Inclamorous, awakening others who search,
not finding, who nap while waiting, until
appointed voice is sent, whispering to awaken . . .
. . . all who hoped for so long, heart deep
in faith, knowing it had to be.
Hope not unfounded, answering awaited hearing,
always in pangs of travail, listening.
Sorrows too many, yet hope in faith, lives
unto truth, long awaited in patience, hoping
to hear what must be true, unconceived,
yet loved wholly, in trust of the Ancient of Days.
New life now awakens in fullness of answering,
keeping every hope, delivered to inclamorous hearts
who waited in sure faith of perfect answer,
completely fulfilled in clear epiphany.