Saturday, 29 March 2014

The Cup

Make for me a pair of hands
a scoop for every fountain
as I trace the source of waterfalls
Way above the highest mountain

Partaking of the cool and pure
Refreshed and rested in my palace
My golden goblet crystal clear
Far from the poisoned chalice

When searching nectars essence
one must undertake ones filter
to plot the route of all things pink
or suffer blue when out of kilter


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