I laugh yet, that I might not cry
My inward-singing lullaby
Whose worth, though trite, I choose to be
A sponge upon my misery
But woe, the deaf, the blind, the dumb
Who was, and is, and is to come
Yet not they know, and nor his grace
Who look not up, upon his face
And yet, beside these quiet waters
Truly sons, and truly daughters
Witches come, and queens yet gone
This not to whet their job yet done
And yet they sing, and yet they dance
Yet not they know, this true romance
Yet Not They Know
(1 post) (1 voice)-
Posted 2 years ago #
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