'Tis the middle of a dark and bleak night,
When gray pall corrupted the darken sight.
The moon in gloomy bright and dull,
No owl nor mighty did ever chant in full.
The night is dark and the town quiet,
The fairest yewong is in glittering robe of white.
In her waking dream, she went walking alone,
She in pursuit of unheard melodies of loud and long.
Of her father's death and mother's doom,
With her voice sharp and sweet in gloomy.
Gliding doth in bare foot through shrubby floor,
With tender heart yewong reached temple's door.
With dale of tears deep in her eyes,
Knelt down the feet of god at a snail's pace
Prayeth she the creed in poetic pain,
Like hopeless minstrel with her strain.
Alas! Quoth she: I wonder, how in the tomb ye lie,
Yet, With thine love alive, keep me like princess alias.
Your tot the last race of our clan in pang,
Beseech every god to rescue thy hang.
In every prayer I make to Eve,
Thanking you, for giving life by which I live.
Now in my heart I perceive your might,
And I promise to make it proudest and bright.
And I pray, in heaven we all shall meet,
As well as others, to regain our broken fate.
In pain she faintly wiped her moist brow,
From the floor where on she toiled up and paced for.
Away from the temple she marched in chill,
And in midnight dark near her mother's mill.
In forlorn she groaned without a word spelled,
And stole her way graciously to her cell.
Beneath their portrait in her breath aloud,
yewong in silence made her last wish in world.
And in heartless mood, sprawled in her staid bed,
Thus to dream and to dream of their clueless death.
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Comments
⛅bébé léft noveltøøn⛅
wow I like it
2021-06-14
1
Snowlily~
A little confusing but totally good
2021-06-05
1