The Hanging Gardens Poem by James McLain

Each page, thy proffered word, as ink to quill.
Innate his will, upon his throne, it shall be done.
Wisdom, crown and glory, stars, his divestments.
Where clear skies that bring them all, safely home.

Through the hanging gardens a man, once a boy.
By the tall tower and through the sand, walked alone.
War by all and thus for your sake, lest it be forgotten.
Came there a woman, made him more, simple less.