O Lady

By TheGreatMasturbator

An old poem.

O Lady who hath charity, what deed imparts the day?
The damned, raised off their treading bellies, forsake labors on
Her head.
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
Her hand.
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
Her name.
O Lady, my Muse, I shall immortalize thee.

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O Lady

Created: Jul 16, 2009

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