Little one, how we strive to hold her tight.
Sweet child, who was mothered by the night.
Do you, believe in tales told of love?
Illusion, that we have all become.
Follow, in the path of water bells.
Hearken, there’s a tolling in the depths.
Voices, from the water spirit’s nest.
Sonorous, chiming music falls.
Given, to a lunar deity,
Virgin, Artemis blessed Baldur’s bride.
Fallen, aesthetic little angel.
Seraphim, that to the mother lied.
Little one, forest keeping her from sight.
Innocent, and fathered by the light.
Oh why, do all children laugh and play?
Nature, we can never overcome.
Wishing, of what we want not become.
Farther, down an old and dying path,
Weeping, morose mother in the sky.
Visionaire, oh how were we to know?
Little one, dwells where happiness is found.
Melody, of all the fauns at play,
Beauty, of the eyes and not the face.
Illusion, that they have all become.
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