A word is a wing,
Is a wing a word today?
Tomorrow perhaps.
Flattery from ye?
Swift departing, fancy's flight
Should not be other.
Your Balrog tires so -
But a darkening flight of
Obsidian verse.
Yet, for thee a ray
Of pale sunshine through cloud pierce
In hard times for thee;
The bless'd are peaceful
The unbless'd walk alone, here,
In lonely grasses.
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And all the rest is literature
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