Sunken in the dreary murk
Does the time with all its might go
And the pen of a poet cries and does not smirk
And a lament or an ode, or a sadder feeling show.
Happier in the inland of life
Does the time with all its victory go
And the pen of a poet crosses the strife
And sets into actions a million minds it do
To execute an idea, a whim of a series of allegory,
To catch sight of the parable and beauty
To glimpse to the life of chronicle and folklore
To give a sudden surge of platform opening the door.
Copyright: Welkin Siskin
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