By Edwin Leibfreed
Methinks I might have been no better thing
If I had come to life with angel’s wing.
Centuries are wrapped within my vagrant soul,
Each a progression, each a written scroll.
A seraph’s sphere is spotless and complete.
Mine seeks to know why bitter forfeits sweet.
My hope is of some fairer thing to be,
That answers to the cry of destiny.
I plead for life as my eternal right,
That I may know that day succeeds the night.
I ask no cherub’s ease and roundelay.
The price of life I gladly, freely pay,
So I may know my soul’s inheritance
Is not this life’s unhappy dissonance.
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