The Ox And The Calf Poem by Joel Roderick Dreaver (Bisson)

It was after the years of slumber in the season of the Golden Orb,
The Treasure of Knowing you're with those you now Loved at Long,
I realized what is well is also the world's eyes that fall upon a story old,
To critical be an answer for my absence for which I've left to burn Song.

Twenty-Four Times I've tried to fall through the crippled image of the Truth,
Unions of Blood and Eternal Fires ablaze among a shadowed past Forsaken,
Two against Twelve the Clock of Ages strikes Mid-Winter Dawning Through,
A scorched Earth of Black Plagues told in numerous accounts of the sicken.

For the True Intention of Well, Commitment and Entitled To None but You,
The Wealth of Spring led to a Golden Dawn Christening the Birth of The Sun,
Youth must never be taken back to the Loss of Those Not Here for Now I Pine,
Where the Heart goes is to where it came from The One who Holds Begun.

Tales of Treasures and Memories we've endeavoured still be a Prize of Cause,
Love The Rarest Gift Of Golden Hearts still be measured as A Beating Drum,
The Rhymes or Rhythm mattered to some but A Poison I Enjoyed was Song,
Yet the withered Youth I've come to know is still but unknown it's True Sum.