Ode to Time.

The conqueror of all, thou art christened,

Never didst thou age, and never wilt thou understand,

An everlasting testament, a higher power there existeth none,

Death and life art thy puppets,

Swayeth they in the clutches of thin steel fingers.

Exceptions thou giveth not,

But this ailing soul with its yearnings and wants

Beseech thy grace to reconsider.

Strike me with thy furious wrath!

Tear at my body with claws of celestial omnipotence,

Bequeath this insolent flesh with the fire of thy pride.

Thou art my Queen, of all mortal souls,

A slave I am to thy grace and a slave will I remain,

Yet prithee, Milady, on all fours I beg,

Preserve these moments, prolong my bliss,

In thy currency I deal with thee.

Of man I am, weak and mortal,

Yet my heart in everlasting darkness

bow down to thee in utter humility,

Even when my senses scream and futile art my pleas,

I durst for I have tasted an unrivalled stupor.

This prison wilt wither but thou shall remain,

To dust I shall return but to thee shalt my memory remain.

Milady,

Canst thou spare this soul a night

To be with his beloved?

To cleanse my mind of thy authority,

And to accompany my cherished, nary an inkling of thy presence.

Wilt it be too grave of a sin, my Liege,

For I to deceive myself of thy procession?