Of Winter’s frost and Summer’s breath,

Verses and sketches etched in bated exuberance.

Whose execution remains faithful and sincere,

With swipes from a human’s crooked shears.

Portraits borne from apathetic ennui

And letters drenched in vehement passion.

However, neither belief of gross tenacity nor zeal

Shall grant these images definite clause in the real

Though no whisper remains to cry its lament

Or angelic entity to sing its eternal requiem.

Ethereal it shall be in the mind of its smith

Guarded from all so none may cause it writhe