By putting one
To Your Holy Pyre,
One can truely be
A Vanquished,
And conquerer too...
And this morn
By your sweet autumnal light
Penetrating me soul, me born,
Sees your holiness
Like a pyre being lit
Somewhere,
Much like He, the wordsmith
Once saw-
A soft glow emanating,
Golden orangy, pinkish red,
A light,
Spreading from a cave
Smouldering
Sage like a mirthful morn...
Perhaps...
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