The sword will sever
The heart at last,
From its bashful naiveté.
And Death shall ride
The pale horse, unkind,
Ending all that will not mend.
After the tower is burnt
Down to the ground,
Hope will again sing.
The moon will bless
The needed retreat,
The Earth will lull to sleep.
Friday, September 19, 2014
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A bright herald
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