An old poem.
O Lady who hath charity, what deed imparts the day?
The damned, raised off their treading bellies, forsake labors on
O Lady, my Queen, I shall be thy crown.
O Lady who hath conduct, what ground wears the day?
The lost, guided through foreign labyrinths, forsake labors on
O Lady, my Light, I shall follow thee.
O Lady who hath history, what tale scribes the day?
The poets, privileged pens, granted labors on
O Lady, my Muse, I shall immortalize thee.
Created: Jul 16, 2009Document Media