Winged spirit, how far from hell’s wind
do you sleep hath with such virtuous grin?
A thousand truths that your falsehood know
would never infect that very wind that blows.
Those who are older than we –
Of many who are wiser than we –
I would try; try not to release
you for who my dreams are relying
on a spell of art still prudently dying.
Bring that bright snake coiling
with a hissing so annoying
To come down and see:
Our fate still hovering, covering
that bird the lover till he sinks- like me.
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