My heart will sink, but my mind will parry.
How quaint are the days that we soulfully marry.
A serotinal awaking, just before the rest.
A holy gratitude pondering abreast.
Needless to cohere.
For our breathes sail alone.
On top of the olive branch, the avian throne.
Wisdom lurking, shadowing the light.
Marking the scheme inside this blight.