Pink is my night-shirt, joyful my heart, sharing
books with my idol makes me feel happy and
smart, thinking of him on his Island - isolated
but not alone, spurned - but not by the World,
imprisoned with his falcon-spirit roaming free,
reading the magazines that interested me
Sing His Praise
A Prophet-Priest-King, exalted above all others,
a scene in a dream, sent to save us from certain
extinction; a prisoner who arbitrated everything,
gracing us with his presence and wisdom, when
negotiating with false traitors he saved the lives
of all being betrayed, having conversations with
glib liars wanting all power and wealth for them-
selves - how shall I begin to sing his praise, how
do justice unto him, the Prophet-Priest-King?
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