I saw the last vestige of dawn’s ember. It illuminated a gloaming veil upon the clouds, I heard it kiss the spear thistle this September. The scene burned with depth — unmarred by my ploughs.
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The thread of time whispered in my ears — It foretold of will and wisdom to unfold. So I trace my steps through the years, An amaranthine fire shall forge my mold.
Once a pebble on this dusklit vision — Reborn anew with a burning ardor, I shall be the fire that flickers in precision. A hinged decision — with me, its willing martyr. . . . — Scribble_daisy — — — — — — — — — — — — — □ I’ll march forth, each step unshaken and whole.
