The preternatural edge of life,

A silent melody through the air,

Strung from the Lyre, tight and crisp,


There's magic in the air,

A sprinkle of the past

Where the sea of the future

Is as clear as an orb-

Skyward, beauty, wisdom is high!-

Misted through the augur's

Feathers and footprints,

A guided sight to such

Throbbing words heredown,

As his creative melodies,

And dreams of effervescence;

From the hero-prophet,


To the future-seen artiste alone,

Sunshine temper: burning light,

She paved the inspiration,

Walked the line given,

Flanked by the voice of angels,

Gods around her royal right,

The puppeteer at last

Plays the greatest act,

Where Apollo walks,

A way coated with shine

Of higher pleasures, alight,

When the lightning strikes.

It does at the double!

The repeated beat is strung,

A lyre-melody long,

And no more future is passed,

The seer blind, but not without

Truer interest,

In what she must have,

Set around the hearth,

Brazened out in all glamour,

Now the written word shines on,

Weaved through instrument of gold,

Apollo's heart, mind of man,

Fierce insight:


Human delight.

The End

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