Mist and Death
Demons of old to toil and tither,
Moil of mine to wine and hemal,
Of thee comes brood and beast,
Whence a nite of tongues and chattering teeth.
Forth slips shimmers of golden rims and grims which greet,
Sips from glorious goblets enchant fabolous feast,
Jests, knaves, et alii figures beguile and bid,
'Twas de hour for not more frivolous guile and fickleness.
Out of oubliette a glim of light so lithe,
Moon of mist now found by life and gift,
For inside one's hide was sight of rimous rig,
Minions of humour bridle toward obverse Omid,
Womb of prime reveal that which is vile and uncouth,
Smile upon me thy glorious chime of pride and proof,
Mind of mine shine on what is trial and new,
Liberty of every, carry me to your shrine of truth.
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