Of the apocryphal did not I read and procure imagination such;
Indeed sought the betterment of myself through the loud talk,
Through all voices heard shall never mine be softer though just,
For this frank point made did not I blow through the minds of many,
Alas for one or two ere not heard be may yet conjure my deeper regression,
Alighted at their doorstep, delivers my final word and transcends:
So I look up at their windows and call them down for word final word
Be the first while I ask of their Happiness and only silence the answer,
I go and slowly made my ways known to all, to have told them light may;
Aghast by mortal fall through sounded smile that of her brow did I raise,
To have lived in ye and told others of thy tale did not I turn towards ye,
Slowly frail but swiftly parted as the fires part our ways as none felt,
Burns her hair and my eyes for what image possess can ever make me full.

Category:
Mysterious, Poetry, Works
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