No more
are my little shackles
tethered to his nerves.
But maybe sometimes
he misses
the prison of my gaze.

O, Clotho, what thought have you to weave such jests?
No mortal thought toward you against!
Thy nimble hands, they weave too quick,
a braided thread, nay long nor thick.

Upon Lachesis, yon thread is passed,
who keeps it in her lissome grasp.
A long, long life, ordeals a'plenty,
in thy mind's eye, distill wrath or envy.

Atropos, friend of Hades dear,
Hag of ages, mortal's seer!
A duty trusted unto thy blade
Evanescent and fleeting we must remain.

Of my poems new,
I should not consent view.

For the words I have scribed
are all written for you.

Amidst my endless dwale
I rise from dimpled vale,
A stale aubade
from chasm broad
doth lull the mad travail.
The brilliant glow o'er
mountains cascading below
Endulges the golden
towers of wheat
and brings sabasim 'pon the dale.

O, eyes that seek the golden gleam
of dirges sung across the stream.
To sail above the muddy earth,
the lark who sings of tantric mirth.

When the glimmer of the twilight descends
and the stars are dancing gaily,
Selene reclines
Eros at her feet
They watch us stroll arm and arm,
a sigh escapes into the heavens.

Oh, Cupid!
Come laugh at us!

Now they have found
eachother.

In the north-lands above.

The dancing lights.

The pull of the mountains,
beyond.

Oh, dawn of gold.

They shine in the light of their love.