Great Lady ye Fate, introduces myself thy Muse,
Creator of the Arts and thy patron here, sings,
The way just and lingering fair but only come,
So deigned is he who walks and lone he be finds
Upon himself a brow of hope that languishes ne
Parted and ne fair but longer never he despair,
Avows a chalice for one sip his only illusion,
Swallows the world and breaches not he but long
Walks to imagine a sight so pleasant he bestow,
Creases the end of all the shortest in mare along,
Casts that shade in deep the dark the hasty way,
The light, the way and shut, slowly fades away,
A remorseful fight unmanned to the heart and by,
So just and lingering here he creates the enemies there,
To imagine his enemies unto himself and never thee,
But our enemies only ye and Time, my dear lady Fate;
Crafts a road that walk we but no say as to granted
The just way; that way we wishes it, a long path known,
How now and soon bow towards the end if not our soil?
As it perspires a moist so delicate as tears thus wept,
To have conjured upon myself this reeling tale of all,
Camps by the edge of life whilst the foes at large fare,
But no enemy of mine but mind can surely exist, alas;
For he is walking but never stooping, and better yet
Softly breathes but soon recoils into the dark he bears,
Surely and better known that he must be resolved;
Either resolved to all or none, to light nor dark,
Better and ware but counts his breath as he does his life,
Alas he; but mine for life is only but mine so lasting –
Shall better endure himself for what lies ahead and never;
To give myself for that which sparks a tear; he thus declares,
In the forest he thinks back, and there unravels,
That fire slowly burning and thus his life begins.

Civilisation, Counterpoint, Mysterious, Nature, Nocturnal, Poetry, Works
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