This mischievous muse, she saunters towards
Holding aloft a cup overfloweth
It spills unto me,My being transformed
Then I do see of dreams foretold
Of mentors and saints
Of fathers unchained
Only now do I witness their words come to fire.
Oh I see your fields of yellow
Oh I see your hollowed halls
Oh I do see emerald and crimson
Spiraling down,
Pirouette or parody
Their eyes are mine
yet It is their fingers that tap on the keys and grasp for the sable.
Only it is me, who pens this fable.
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