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Wonder do they stride at all who bore him over her glistening ground |
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I wonder, do |
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I sense the breath of dragons, steering sound |
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I catch the gust with my hands like an open bowl and hope the beast never stills the wailing of his mould |
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I wonder, does it pour me something opaque in mirrormere and grace this that has lasted for quite some time will it last throughout all days |
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The sound turns undressed back to me like beryls floating in a wide stream |
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I wonder is this the final chance to fulfill the golden steem |
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The sound of finches ledged to the skin defy this pledged cry never has it really leaned to me as a burden or an obvious lie |
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I wonder if her silver horns bestow poison into my chalice for |
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I feel the stains like |
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I've been touched, though wounded not from foreign malice |
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Be with me and feel with me the sketch of your enchanting sky so |
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I can hold you in my arms tight until the day |
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I die |
