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A Symphony of Words at Play

- A Symphony of Words at Play -

Words art like unto music, lilting and lovely,
When committed to verses befitting a bard…
Of skill and craft, capable of blessed dignity.
So much power in the play of pretty word!
But none so fair as the artist’s perfect muse.
She is the angel that is the artist’s inspiration,
Without which even divine words may lose…
The very fire that makes them a celebration!
But in my muse’s loveliness my words alight,
Lifting them to Heaven in such a magical rite!
A symphony of words at play, playing on…
Bringing even unto winter, a springtime sun.

Ah, how time makes one ponder such fancies!
But, time hath not nearly as much power thus,
As love, which creates far, far fonder fantasies…
Which come into the mind and heart, as must.
I ponder the seasons of old, and yet to come,
For, of old, in other lives and times long past…
I remember knowing her, and having such fun!
Dancing in meadows, hand in hand, running fast.
Singing together, putting flowers into her hair…
Caressing her face and telling her about things,
Matters both mundane and oft beyond compare:
Which she knew not, but which wisdom brings.
Was I thy mentor, even then, and much more?
Close as kin can be, two souls bonding so well,
For each contains magic, precious and grand…
Magic beyond that which creates a mere spell!
Our magic runs deeper beyond aught planned,
Even by divine forces that art oft so powerful.
For magic and love hath a power of their own,
And that power is both heavenly and beautiful.

Of all the lilies of the meadowlands and fields,
Across the seas of grass of summertime bright…
Only one, unto heavenly glories, so well yields:
She is my Tiger Lily, which brings me delight!
Though winter be upon the land, in bleakness,
I still fell her beauty in my soul, and it is great!
Never call such sentiment as this a weakness,
For love and beauty art strong as castle gates!

I then think of the times to come, for us both…
Of dances yet to be danced in new meadows!
Of songs yet to be sung, of nigh angelic worth.
New flowers, new laughter and new shadows,
Beneath the moon, when the stars do emerge!
I hath been thy mentor, sister, and mother too,
And feel our old bonds, and our magic surge…
Unto new heights, of glory, as yet to so ensue.
Oh kindred spirit, soul of my soul, great muse!
Love hath such power, to shape all destinies…
As time, all around us thus eternally continues.
I am carried forth by many lovely pleasantries!
But none so fair as thy love, such rare treasure.
Thou hast ever offered it to me forever freely…
And, it hath ever brought me endless pleasure.
How bright is thy light, how it shines brilliantly!
Like none other I hath ever beheld in likeness,
For who else is like unto thee, and I, dearest?
We art two dark angels risen from darkness…
By the bonds we share, which make us blest!

Of all the lilies of the meadowlands and fields,
Across the seas of grass of summertime bright…
Only one, unto heavenly glories, so well yields:
She is my Tiger Lily, which brings me delight!
Though winter be upon the land, in bleakness,
I still fell her beauty in my soul, and it is great!
Never call such sentiment as this a weakness,
For love and beauty art strong as castle gates!

A mother’s delight, a sister’s joy, and more…
So many glories, thou dose upon me bestow!
Thou dost fill me with so much happy comfort,
And there is so much more, for us to know…
Of joy and love, and happiness and gladness.
So great, that right now as the snow is falling,
I feel warmth and not even a tinge of sadness.
It is like unto hearing the sweet angels calling!
I have heard thy call, sweet child of my heart,
And I call unto thee in turn, our voices ringing.
Our journey together hath begun with a start,
Harmonious and beautiful, like faeries singing!
Winter seems so far away in thinking of thee,
Though the snow is here, and the air is cold…
I canst not put to verse all that thou art to me.
For such words must be divine and also bold!
I canst only aspire to sing in such a fair way…
But sing I doth, and commit to verse my song.
For us I craft this symphony of words at play,
To delight thee like no other, my dearest one!

Words art like unto music, lilting and lovely,
When committed to verses befitting a bard…
Of skill and craft, capable of blessed dignity.
So much power in the play of pretty word!
But none so fair as the artist’s perfect muse.
She is the angel that is the artist’s inspiration,
Without which even divine words may lose…
The very fire that makes them a celebration!
But in my muse’s loveliness my words alight,
Lifting them to Heaven in such a magical rite!
A symphony of words at play, playing on…
Bringing even unto winter, a springtime sun.
Written by Kou_Indigo (Kara L. Pythiana-Ashton)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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