and by it be free of it…,
a pasty warrior of words
and spells and wholesome
deeds that some misread,
to some mismanaged hound,
a dog of fearsome…,
nay - a fickle meaning,
who in their right mind…,
show me one with the right
mind,
but there in the farthest corner
of that scorched land,
The Hand of God,
saved from the sword
with bells and whistles
and the beauty,
to help him leave
this hollow nest
where there are no
birds voices,
no echoes and woe,
here we be - the lost
and loud,
the unsolemn,
a sand, a rain, a sea,
the quiet storm
and souls that sing,
intermingled with
cherry blossoms, wind
and boggled eyes
of the newborn child.
