Foundry's pillows grace the morning sky,
To sleep, let grow and to die,
Crosses made from dying grass, come to life and grow again,
Blood drips from museum swords,
To drink, let flourish and to die,
Words not yet left unspoken,
Tomes of the worldy remise buried in alcoves unopened,
To read, let scribe and to die,
Twisted thoughts that hold undenyable antiquity,
Ancients begat and borne mythoi,
Mutatis mutandis, enlighten and live.