The Dream of....
As the choir of stars begins,
he perches on a snowy peak;
the last of daylight envelops him;
at his feet the thunder breaks.
His white throat, like a king's hilt;
eternally sharp for wrath, his talons
curve like daggers of ivory and gold.
Solitary there, he settles on the heights
blending with pallid fogs; his aureole
dwindles, its splendid light.
gone shadowy, and slowly he goes
does into the dark, as the soul goes
down in meditation when alone....
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