A fool that suffers an unfailing love,
a confused poet that can't tell the difference
between the ocean and the sky, a charlatan
that writes and sings to capture infinites;
an artist that composes several figures
in the style of a xenophile, a rain-loving
writer and philologue, a serious fellow,
a lover amidst the awful trials of being
muttering praises. We yet chant the high
things of God despite our failures, songs
and rhymes, tropes and lines, strophic schemes
of meaning litter the media. We have sung
a verse repeating incessantly, for we
may know her through it and begin to love.
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