The Poet’s Last Song
The Poet’s love is a fragile thread,
To my children, I offer instead
The soul’s prayer; To my fairy fancies above,
a harvest of truth in the illusion of love;
To the God of pain and grace;
Everything that my fairy fancies embrace.
The Poet in death sings a solemn refrain,
to the God of pain, who knows no disdain.
Nightfall in the city hums a cradle song,
as a bearer of burdens, the shadows grow long.
In salutation to the eternal peace,
She prays for her soul’s release.
In the hour of exile, the night feels long,
Yet peace resides in the cradle song.
To the God of Pain, the poet’s despair,
Her song of a dream fills the evening air.
Past and future intertwine
in the poet’s verse where truth’s align.
The gift of life is a poet’s love
the lines writ in realms above.
To nighttime lullabies that she sings at the fall.
To the God of pain and grace, who cradles all.
In salutation, in praise she sings,
of eternal joy and the peace God brings.
WoPoLi 
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