Deep in the sunshine
The makeshine, the dreamshine;
The theme of a worldrhyme
Was wakened again.

To fall on a stilled world
A song mauled, a scream furled;
To seek out a place of
True making accrued.

Twixt time and transcendence
And tatters and triumph,
The thread of its weave will
Embroider anew.

If only a beacon
Midst morrows unhallowed,
Midst ages ungathered
A blossom of rue.

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