Your breath the freedom, a winged bird's flight;
My lungs feast on sweetest ambrosia's tongue.
Lest the world crumble tomorrow in plight,
Leaving mortal heart and soul thrown askew.
Even as the shadows fall o'er the lands
And every fowl spiralingly dives, wings clipp'd,
Angelic thoughts sinking in death's dire sand,
Fragrant chords shall yet from sweet lips be sipp'd.
Yet your eternal song shall ring in ears
Forever reaching the seeker's stilled bosom,
Forever spinning the music of spheres
Even as moving to total rest succumb.
Bedlam would not end such imbibing beauty.
No end dares take such a dauntless duty.
Doodle Pad Musings
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