How we wound the Sol
With teeth, blades, and tongues of gold
It weeps sultry fire as it crawls,
To a tranquil realm God crafted olde
I beseech the Sol to stay
But itās wails crescendo to a shrill,
Enow! It bellows, fire cascading upon the vale
Forsooth, humanity are unworthy with poor will
Nay! I cry,
We are flawed, true! We love you!
The Sol disregards me and descends without comply
I choke ...