May I lie in words yet foretold,
Where a different voice infuses the change.
A sanctity alone where the morality of words,
Anoints a composer to possession of birth.
A beginning that’s blessed with the reply of the light.
A moment of insight innate to the years.
A richness of talent no poverty of words.
A morning that rises no evening to set.
Tender the virtue in the syllable of gold,
Writing the words that cradle the future.
Their harmony of beauty in its formation to please.
Possessing the newness no viper to prey.
A bursting of joy in a cathedral vision.
A guidance from feelings spirit to pen.
A virginal creation in the complexity of change.
A foundation of words serene in their grace.
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