The Scop's Lament
| Taliesin Wordweaver |
|
Weary words and wasted time
haunt my head- to hell with rhyme! I'll sing the songs my heart recites, tune my tongue to tell the flights traced in trances, tracked by dreams, pinned to poems packed with themes. The fleeting flights of comets flare then fail and fall as fast through air not half so high nor twice as holy as songs well sung recited fully. |
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