A
Oh, give me words where then to the words I may speak with the slumbered,
the tiresome, to those we Love each.
And you shall learn and do not only learn for then you must also teach.
For there is no greater truth to behold in one's mind, unless under a dark cloud one sleeps.
Do not cast the morning in which the cool dawn is most sweet.
There are more riddles, more than their mysteries, for this we shall weep.
Through port holes the whimsical shall draw forth from blackness of the deep.
Hear of the exaltation; hear how One lowered Himself for others so death they may not reap.
For there is no price for this story, for all can see beyond the madness as Love dwells pouring from the heart each joining the others' creek.