A dark and stormy night it was, and I,
Who should have better known, from protocol
Too well I wrote myself, knew then I'd die,
By dawn, among the graveyard stones and all.
The day my pen has shed the last of all its tears,
And every dropp of ink upon the pages of
My book has dried, denied will not be those who love
The rhyming forms. These echoed words, which bare my years
Two lone combatants, in a clear blue sky,
Black Furies from a cold and ancient realm,
Bold Knight against bold Knight, prepare to die,
Head the fall, into the wings of Death's calm.
My wide-eyed child and I know of colorful things
that dip and skim over summer hills and meadows,
Of fancy freedom held aloft by wispy wings,
Of frail, orange petals edged in ebon shadows.
I knew of a place in the Land of OZ,
So I ran down its winding, yellow brick road;
Knew the wonderland of Alice's dream,
And learned of a princess who kissed a toad.