The Ominous

When the wind chimes silently carol

And the boughs of the forest dance,

As verses of prose give me call,

Of faraway Robyn in eternal's nest.

'Neath the winds mellow bellow

As she rest upon a gilded halo,

Like a cloud of cashmere serendipity,

And sweet cider of distant memories.

In absence of yesterday's rhymes,

As my melancholia weeps,

In the grits mill of my mind.

If it wasn't for the ominous,

My sanity would be bound,

Now that my cumulus is sound,

As she rest upon a gilded halo.

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