Poesy In Heaven Poem by Faeo de Lyre

Welcome me not there, do!
At the Cherubim and Seraphim
Come I not; the trumpetings
And banding __ celestial,
But intil a lyre.

For a knowing and in bouncing
Springs, heavy is my heart.
Of a hand, shall it alike, heavy,
To carve early from the vainly;
In that vanity is made and went,
And shall not empty, leave?
He lacked baptism and swore
To depart earth by the name,
Of a promise. But from the
Heavens made this vanity. But
Not his choice, his moving I did
Know; perhaps, shall from
Earth not.

I am therefore that Poesy stole
My heart and chopped in bit.
As vanity shall know, and may
Judge, but from here, I wish
Intil my science to harabour
My politics of exporting intil
A scriptorium, a commodity
Of my scripts. Though may not
Escape the omnipresent science
Of that beast __ vanity, that
Devours the human mould in
The careless, I run yet.

But sought to deliver my best
Beloved intil this home, I love
This bearing. As I adventure,
Let intil this merchandise. I
Wish that poesy fetch feathers
To fly forth or in the animate
To ghost away intil delivery,
Receive a shade, where they
Shall speak my name and smell
Earthly in another; hence
The heavens lack an apartment
To sue quality and measure. It
Is in my secret that my hand
Went across this scriptions
Vainly; upon my breast heavy,
To jump this love of the ink
Bloody, in especial, it is also.

Wherever my souling hereafter,
Let me before, secure and intil
This offspring, defend; that may
Not save any mark. With his
Tongue but cannot claim an
Arguement but welcome intil
The last stranger. But in my
Diary, for my echoe __ let me by
Poesy afterwards, towards the
Heavens. I can again, produce
Intil the last piece on earth; let
But the sinew along my name
But from here on earth, dregs.