In the wake of the crescent moon
I drifted, lightly sensible,
Of swirling misty memories
Twisted coolly, gently murmuring

From the lake of the nascent loon
Unfolded new, gleaming mysteries;
Alluring, leading breathlessly,
Entrancing pensive follower;
Betwixt rapturous melodies
Of bliss, of love’s immeasure

With the stake of a sharp-ringed tune
My heart, lately pierced,
Crimson flowing, labored
Faithfully, ‘gainst gravity’s gravid mass,
Of pressure’s crush,
No strength to blush,
In darkened melancholy

In the melt of a distant June
Fresh flow’rs scatter,
Cover’ng soils’ lament,
Expelling stagnant wretched fears’
Moldy contempt,
Bursting glory,
Flung about in gay ecstatic spray

For the sake of my life, I soon
Shall bow to late emotion’s missive,
And, shaking shackles’ circling bands
Revealing heartfelt bliss. If
Next in life’s perplexing rhymes
Fresh stream or form emerges,
Yea, once again,
May Providence
Give peace,
The fire which purges.