XVIII
Red-Gold Alchemical Poesy.
The Language of the Birds. The Fools verdant tongue. Harp strings and heart strings, Her presence fills the lungs.
The blood wanders dreaming paths, That angels fear to tread. Fractal roses bloom at night, The voices of the dead.
Ye who worship โneath the moon That lights the storm-waved sea aflame, Ask of her the mysteries, She will whisper you a name.
Good gravy Marie, that second half just launches into the stratosphere and leaves me floating in a beautiful orbit. Thank you for that.