The Saviour

By thy sweat ye shall eat,
For night and day are legs and arms,
Seeking nothing but belly-timber,
To meet the daily quests,
Until nighted day comes,
For gloominess the light sleeps,
And Wicca gazes in sinister.
As dusk nigh, candles stand,
And hope becomes flowing rivers:
Hadn't b'n, in work shall man die,
You come, stealing us from duties,
Like your brother; outbreathe rest.
Night-watchs wish; fight,
But to no avail: when you come
Nothing than submiss.
In your warmness our rest bestowed,
And launch the dust to bed,
Fairly we embrace you,
The peace giver;
Night, the saviour.
Fri, 8 Apr 2016 12:20 pm
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