Jacquo Sinclare

Once was a man, Jacquo Sinclare
bestowed was he a gentle stare,
who's hands would cleanse the tattered soul so torn apart.
Such wonders of his simple heart.

He who lived by the sea in salient breeze
would not another man be so pleased, with
such little love from a world which tastes of listless heart.
And from his tongue was uttered words which start.
These wonders for a life so tart.

The seeming end of bitter war
final tales of forgotten lore.
Within his eyes a way for all who seek,
and spoke in song with angels, devout and meek.

'Twas spoken near his tidal garden
in a wake of dismal days unpardoned,
and from their mouths, alive in wisdom, a melancholy song,
came the words of saints forgotten long:

"Enchanted master of this season
release your chains of doubt and reason.
Verily, your heart will then free from all your fear and bondage.
Your spirit may soon abscond and be gone."
Work thus now before it has gone.

ATS
0/0/92