Poem from the heart

Version A

Hear, I call you reader; wanderer!

Where, about this cold seal, bare

This heat that scorches your soul,

Now but a may bud blossom,

In you heart shaped bosom.

Lead you by the silver moon,

Which you fear; come the noon!

Seldom is the owl that hoots,

Born of wisdom, perched on roots;

Sage of hours will define your powers.

Not until the third valley reached,

Will you hear, this ballad preached!

Ponder this; you shalt never miss,

The morning will bring our son,

Bless this cradle, bless this spoon.

Wonder through the gardens grass,

Past the well of eternal glass,

Near the mist you will arise,

Break no gear that may surmise,

In sweet heaven you see demise.



Version B

Hear, I call you reader; wanderer!

Where, about this cold seal, bare

This heat that scorches your soul,

Now but a may bud blossom,

In you heart shaped bosom.

Lead you by the silver moon,

Which you fear; come the noon!

Seldom is the owl that hoots,

Born of wisdom, perched on roots;

Sage of hours will define your powers,

Not until the third valley reached,

Will you hear, this ballad preached!

Ponder this; you shalt never miss,

The morning will bring our son,

Bless this cradle, bless this spoon.

Wonder through the gardens grass,

Past the well of eternal glass,

Near the mist you will arise,

Break no gear that may surmise,

In sweet heaven you see demise.