Oh what a task befalls this poet's write:
What ode for this a darkness of my mind?
Without no form unless my weary sight
How could my words of praise to disease bind?
Suppose this state is half to full and hence:
My dark companion seems a loyal friend;
As much as thickened clouds to summer's sense
As thought umbrellas block a healthy end.
And too with generousity I give
The praise: devotion, to the dreadful cause;
That fear owns life and in that fear to live
And breathe so happiness does not gift pause,

But here I pause in ink's defiant line:
Go back to hell oh devil, far from mine.