'To The Writer Of The Soul' Poem by Mckeily Quilang

Lo! Haste be a tale foretold thy letters,
Charmed of a defender in a clear eye--
Grateful the morning sails what it endeavors
Reflected a grandeur beyond a rye;
Revive, bright splendor, and dwell proudly by
A reign before times of earthly sorrow,
As ofttimes aloft reeling, O by now:
Seen onto the freshness yet strange a nigh,
Gently that dears with a light emotion,
Or by damsels that perched a brow too high;
Purely of awe o'ertook to bloody oc'an
Unaware of swelling, by cupid's lie.
Path unproclaimed on paddling devotion
To feel beauty's ere fame, may first must die!