The moon hung over London;

The cobbled clouds were silver streaks

Like serpents rising from their sleep

And everywhere the moonlight hit

A snake would start to hiss and spit

But noone saw the silver splinters

Filled with hate and souls of winters

For love had had its grand ascension

Just as in Leonardo's art inventions

The Lord had come, the Lord had saved

All at mercy from this day

For no man was left below

And Satan had no will to show

The serpents with no souls to feast on

Left themselves in Earnest, and on

Finding all his Love's were dead

Evil himself struck off his head.

The End

4 comments about this poem Feed