He was the blue magister,
Of verse he was father.
The cerulean paladin
For our art written.
Azure Robed Solomon!
From you I need a sermon!
Tell me that my art is true!
And that my heart is Blue!
Can you allow me to fly,
Past the tomb of Ramses by?
Or take a bullet train,
To the atomic plain of Ukraine?
Will my words be bladed?
Like the fabled claymore?
Or shall my letters be aided?
With a carpet to fly forevermore?
Can you tell me about beauty?
To distinguish between grace and harlotry?
Can you tell me the regal legacy?
Of the kings and lords of the elegant poetry?
Will my anthology of verses fade away.
Like a broken toy never useful for play?
Or will it be an honor for us?
To succeed the great magus?
Autumn Nights
An Arts Guild
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