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Franc Rodriguez Poems
To Laud The Hymns Of Praise
There upon the welkin is a hovering cloud. It is a towering image of a celestial guardian. Aureate is his halo as he gathers on a hallow mound. He joins the lovesome choir of voices so stentorian.
The Wuthering Winds Of Yester
Within the ridges dwells a hallow sanctuary. In the moors is a silhouette of a lingering soul. He is a waif who drudged upon his misery. He went forth among his painstaking dole.
She was born there among the shine of the sun, upon a memorable and lively blossoming spring. Like a madder red rose in the meadow to flourish, and be nurtured like the sparrows that thus sing.
I shall come to fade within the ripples ...
The thester clouds would quickly overlap, the once before gleaming midday sun. And it is a sign that the eventide is nigh, and I shall find myself forsooth alone again.
I shall beseech what must behove
The glare of the morning sun thus shone, upon the everlasting welkin of the brine. And as the billows brush upon the shale, the waves swayed such a gushing sound.
Thorn of the yore
The cold waters of the sea were bustling, with the sundry waves that would bellow. They soon struck the depth of the strand, as they billowed swiftly upon the shale.
Souls of the slain
For manifold years the kinsmen shivered, within the shade of the wanton blood. The days and nights were soon becoming, a living nightmare for the sundry clans.
Spell of the golden strands of hair
There was once a young king too blinded, with wrath and under the spell of a witch. It was said amongst the athelings that he, was so brazen and lost in his madness.
Seer of the darkness of death
A darkness of evil thus befell upon the clans, within such a ruthless and wearisome path. It came from the land of the Saxons and Jutes, and spread swiftly upon the strands of the sea.
Keepers of the golden ring of eight
It was foretold that a wrath would befall, and gar the clansmen to blench in fear. It would be a dreadful fright that in the end, they would never come to forget.
Scowl of the ents
A blustery winter had suddenly fallen, upon the lands within the dales. The waters froze and the frost was ice, which thickened the harden fjords.
Spear of Odin
Amidst the sundry tales of the clansmen, is a wonderful tale of Viking lore. It is a tale intertwined in the rune stones, in the depth of the Nordic lands.
Horn of the elders
A staid mist of evil befell upon the dale, and the depth of its wide sward. A sward that was soon to be enmeshed, in the cold wintry dollop of snow.
Bode of the soothsayer
From beyond the knolls of the wider dale, was born a bairn from within the Saxons. The might of the Saxons overcame soon, the brazen uprisings of the Picts still left.
Comments about Franc Rodriguez
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
To Laud The Hymns Of Praise
There upon the welkin is a hovering cloud.
It is a towering image of a celestial guardian.
Aureate is his halo as he gathers on a hallow mound.
He joins the lovesome choir of voices so stentorian.
There within the mist soon appear rejoiceful angels.
It is an ensemble of cherubs blaring in the infinity.
They hoist the banner amain in epic battles.
As soldiers they charge doughty with impunity.
The mist is cleared the Lord calls his servants each.
Divine with mettle are their hallow spirits and souls.
It is an unyielding loyalty that no soul can breach.