Swirling (Poem)
One last strain of music plays
And voices yet to come, they sing
‘fore sunset’s shining rays
One last broken-hearted king
And tales of battles lost, he tells
’neath stars and ancient rings
One last peal from lonely bells
And calls that go unanswered, cry
of seven-levelled hells
All final pleas, and endless sighs
Become the past with no reply.