Like all poems, in books, upon dusty shelves
Written by one of our kind
Thus it was with the Master
And so it is with mine
I bare my soul with ink for blood
That courses thru the page
I invoke the Mighty Shining Ones
As thus was ever with the Mage.
He was a man, and I a maid
His time far before mine
Yet this love is eternal
Lingering in the silence of poetry’s shrine.