• I wish you speak
    Of things not heard -
    The pattern of your heart.
    Confide in me
    The treasure trove
    Of wisdom to impart.

    For by the pen,
    The sword, ourselves,
    With chilling painful cry
    Cut deep the bone,
    To marrow's edge,
    And by this law, we die.

    In times where trust
    Be few and far
    Between like men and love,
    Remember me
    This constant prayer
    With wings hopes high above:

    Within this world,
    Life's path does lead
    Where e'er that you should go,
    Remember love
    That always was,
    That was to always know.