If every day is Yuko Day
Then what is night to me?
A bit of shade that’s in the way
Of Yuko Day to be.

If every hill is Yuko Hill,
Then what are vales low?
They’re places sad, empty, still,
That Yuko Hills don’t know.

If all the trees are Yuko Trees
And bird-song Yuko’s Call,
And all the Spring is Yuko Spring
And light is Yuko’s All,

Then what are all the un-betweens,
And why, why are they here?
They know that Yuko is my Queen
And soon, will soon, appear.