Pacific thy bloweth
Pacific thy bloweth from Northern sky,
Nodding petals amid the viridescent,
Awakening to a new morn,
Hushing at mine casement,
Whispering sagely secrets, thy alighted.
Kisseth, so honey, reminding days gone by,
Decadent, forlorn aboding in a pit of destitute,
Howling wild Agony crushing mine core,
Yet I told her, of a glorious tide awaiting to befall me,
When Providence shalt pour in scores of fruits,
Rich of triumph in conjunction with prosperity infinite.
At present, pondering over destiny, weaved viciously,
By the Dark Crown looming, scoffing souls, thy blow rang in me,
To chant again of the tide awaiting to befall us,
When Providence shalt shower the seeds of triumph,
In conjunction with peace infinite.