Equinoxal Ascent

In the white haze of spring is born
The marked eye’s corona to stare
At an opal stage hand’s sojourn
To front and center up the stair

Wrought up is he who stands to sing
An aria for autumn’s bow
To the Dreamland’s warm whispering
Of decaying hopes none allow

And a perchance here holds no stake
As nightmares ride on hot rot’s wake

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