The Blade of Night

The blade of night has cut me loose to sing
a lay of adoration to the Day.
Night which so long held me in his sway
must now defer his circlet to my King.

For night, though raging fell on stolen wings,
on facing light must edge his face away.
His sword is broken, visage ashen grey;
for Light is dark to night and all he brings.

The blade of night has cut me loose to love,
which twists his purpose 'round and cuts his quick,
and sounds on all he's done this paling knell:
My enemy is no match for a Dove.
His weakening power is weak and always sick.
My lay twists stronger as I live to tell.




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This text © 2002 John David Robinson, all rights reserved. Duplication prohibited without written consent.