Memories of my Grandfather
Lo, the sweet sent of foreign spice plays across the air.
Steam, fresh and sharp, to spread the taste divine across the room.
Match strike, the dried leaves glow with hidden life in the bowl of a pipe.
Against the skin, leather and velvet in the dark library, enclosed in aged oak.
Lo, the sweet sent of foreign spice plays across the air.
Steam, fresh and sharp, to spread the taste divine across the room.
Match strike, the dried leaves glow with hidden life in the bowl of a pipe.
Against the skin, leather and velvet in the dark library, enclosed in aged oak.
Invocation of the Muse
Sing, oh Muse, of what will be.
Sing, the future, the dream of time,
the path of a man, the charge of a hero.
Sing, oh Muse, of the world that was.
Sing of ages past, brought to life in hymn,
what the world could be yet again.
Sing, oh Muse, of magic in the air.
Sing, of beauty, daughter of truth,
Of song, of love, of poem and myth.
Sing, oh Muse, sing to the world.
Sing of hope, of the woes of man,
of wounds self-made, of healing to come.
Sing, sing the creation of heaven.
Sing until the tide of the world ebbs,
till evil fades in the glow of Dawn.
