Shout aloud to be covered with silence as a shroud.
Beckon to the night of the lonely oh thy popular crowd.
For ye see not care not, yet ye were once in that state.
It rolls like raging waves and will not abate.
Yet ye sit in the most cantankerous wit.
Ye give as good as ye git.
But charity oh sweet charity is the way of a good land.
The bear that looks after her cubs as had washes hand.
Yet that ye t’would wander in the ancestral vale alone.
Hoping to shout out and maybe atone.
But for your sins not a soul would forgive.
And many a torment one might relive.
Stand forth unto the lonesome in their valiant revelry.
To give them no woes and no rivalry.
Let us choose this day, Love.
To champion the hell of low and serve the heaven above.
Poetry
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beautiful, and an impressive use of old english style. I have nothing but praise for this masterpeice.
thank you